%  % 


*»»££*<' 


NUN1V 


•*0^.«"« 


. 


Printed     hr   R.  Andrews 


THE 


PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS 


DAVID     HUME. 


INCLUDING  ALL    THE    ESSAYS,  AND  EXHIBITING    THE   MORE 

IMPORTANT    ALTERATIONS   AND    CORRECTIONS    IN 

THE    SUCCESSIVE    EDITIONS    PUBLISHED 

BY    THE    AUTHOR. 


IN     FOUR     VOLUMES 

VOL.    I. 


BOSTON: 

LITTLE,   BROWN  AND   COMPANY. 

EDINBURGH: 

ADAM    AND    CHARLES    BLACK. 

MDCCCLIV. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

ALLEN    AND    FARNHAM,    PRINTERS 


ADVERTISEMENT 


The  Philosophical  Writings  of  Mr.  Hume  are  here  for 
the  first  time  collected  in  a  uniform  edition.  The 
Essays  are  reprinted  from  the  Edition  of  1777,  in  two 
octavo  volumes,  corrected  by  the  Author  for  the  press,  a 
short  time  before  his  death,  and  which  he  desired  might 
be  regarded  as  containing  his  philosophical  principles. 
The  text  of  that  Edition  has  been  faithfully  adhered  to 
in  the  present ;  but  as  it  has  been  thought  an  interesting 
object  of  curiosity,  to  trace  the  successive  variations  of 
sentiment  and  taste  in  a  mind  like  that  of  Hume,  and 
to  n  ark  the  gradual  and  most  observable  increase  of 
caution  in  his  expression  of  those  sentiments,  it  has  been 
the  care  of  the  present  Editor  to  compare  the  former 
Editions,  of  which  a  List  is  here  subjoined,  and  where 
any  alterations  were  discovered,  not  merely  verbal,  but 
illustrative  of  the  philosophical  opinions  of  the  author, 
to  add  these  as  Notes  to  the  passages  where  they  occur. 

The  Essays  contained  in  the  early  Editions,  but  which 
were  omitted  in  that  of  1777,  will  be  found  at  the  end 
of  the  last  volume  of  the  present  Collection  of  his 


240 


VI  ADVERTISEMENT. 

Works,  together  with  the  Two  Essays,  on  Suicide,  and 
the  Immortality  of  the  Soul. 

In  addition  to  the  Author's  Life,  written  by  himself, 
the  Account  of  the  Controversy  with  M.  Kousseau  has 
also  been  prefixed.  It  was  originally  printed  in  French, 
and  shortly  afterwards  in  English,  in  the  year  1766. 
The  English  translation  was  superintended  by  Mr. 
Hume ;  and  as  it  relates  to  an  extraordinary  occurrence 
in  the  Lives  of  these  eminent  philosophers,  has  been 
thought  a  suitable  appendage  to  the  short  Memoir  of 
himself. 

Edinburgh,  June,  1825. 


EDITIONS  OF  THE  ESSAYS  COLLATED  AND  REFERRED  TO. 


Essays,  Moral  and  Political.  Edinburgh,  Kincaid,  1741. 
12mo.     (A) 

Essays,  Moral  and  Political,  Vol.  II.  Edinburgh,  Kincaid, 
1742.     12mo.  pp.  105.     (B) 

Essays,  Moral  and  Political,  2d  Edition,  corrected.  Edin- 
burgh, Kincaid,  1742.     12mo.  pp.  189.     (C) 

Essays,  Moral  and  Political.  By  D.  Hume,  Esq.  3d  Edition, 
corrected,  with  additions.     London,   Millar,  1748.     12mo. 

(D) 

Three   Essays,  Moral  and  Political,  never  before  published, 

which  completes  the  former  Edition,  in  two  volumes  octavo. 
By  D.  Hume,  Esq.     London,  Millar,  1748.     12mo.       E) 

Political  Discourses.  By  D.  Hume,  Esq.  Edinburgh,  Kin- 
caid, 1752.  Small  8vo.  To  this  Edition  there  is  sometimes 
added  "  a  List  of  Scotticisms"     (F) 

Political  Discourses.  By  D.  Hume,  Esq.  2d  Edition.  Edin- 
burgh, Kincaid,  1752.  12mo.  Merely  a  reprint  of  the  pre- 
ceding.    (G) 

Essays  and  Treatises  on  several  Subjects.  By  D.  Hume,  Esq. 
Vol.  IV.  containing  Political  Discourses.  3d  Edition,  with 
Additions  and  Corrections.     London,  Millar,  1754.     (H) 

Four  Dissertations  :  1st,  Natural  History  of  Religion :  2d,  of 
the  Passions :  3d,  of  Tragedy :  4th,  of  the  Standard  of 
Taste.  By  D.  Hume,  Esq.  London,  Millar,  1757.  12mo. 
(I) 


Vlll  EDITIONS    COLLATED    AND    REFERRED    TO. 

Philosophical  Essays  concerning  Human  Understanding.     By 

the  Author  of  the  Essays   Moral  and  Political.     London, 

Millar,  1748.     12mo.     (K) 
Philosophical  Essays  concerning  Human  Understanding.     By 

D.  Hume,  Esq.   2d  Edition,  with  Additions  and  Corrections. 

London,  MiUar,  1750.     12mo.     (L) 
An  Enquiry  concerning  the   Principles  of   Morals.      By  D. 

Hume,  Esq.     London,  Millar,  1751.     (M) 
Essays  and  Treatises  on  several  Subjects.    By  D.  Hume,  Esq. 

London,  Millar,  1768.     2  vols.  4to.     (N) 
Essays  and  Treatises  on  several  Subjects.    By  D.  Hume,  Esq. 

London,  Cadell,  1777.     2  vols.  8vo.     (O) 

The  above  List  comprehends  all  the  Editions  which  vary  materially  from 
each  other.  Those  which  have  been  found  on  examination  to  be  mere 
reprints,  are  not  included. 


CONTENTS   OF  VOLUME  I 


Life  of  the  Author xiii 

Letter  from  Adam  Smith,  LL.D.  to  William  Strachan,  Esq.,  and 

Latter-will  and  Testament  of  Mr.  Hume     ....  xxiii 

Account  of  the  Controversy  between  Hume  and  Rousseau    .        .  xxxv 

List  of  Scotticisms cix 


TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE. 
Introduction 5 

BOOK  I  — OF  THE  UNDERSTANDING. 

PART    I. 

OF  IDEAS,  THEIR  ORIGIN,  COMPOSITION,  CONNECTION, 
ABSTRACTION,  ETC. 

Of  the  Origin  of  our  Ideas 15 

Division  of  the  Subject 22 

Of  the  Ideas  of  the  Memory  and  Imagination 23 

Of  the  Connection  or  Association  of  Ideas 25 

Of  Relations 29 

Of  Modes  and  Substances 31 

Of  Abstract  Ideas 33 

PART   II. 

OF  THE  IDEAS  OF  SPACE  AND  TIME. 


Of  the  infinite  Divisibility  of  our  Ideas  of  Space  and  Time 

Of  the  infinite  Divisibility  of  Space  and  Time 

Of  the  other  Qualities  of  our  Ideas  of  Space  and  Time 

Objections  answered 

The  same  Subject  continued 

Of  the  Idea  of  Existence,  and  of  external  Existence 


44 

47 
52 

59 

76 
91 


X  CONTENTS. 


PART    III. 
OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  PROBABILITY. 

Of  Knowledge 95 

Of  Probability,  and  of  the  Idea  of  Cause  and  Effect  .         .         .100 

Why  a  Cause  is  always  necessary 106 

Of  the  component  parts  of  our  Reasonings  concerning  Cause  and  Effect  111 

Of  the  Impressions  of  the  Senses  and  Memory 113 

Of  the  Inference  from  the  Impression  to  the  Idea  .         .         .         .116 

Of  the  Nature  of  the  Idea  or  Belief 125 

jOf  the  Causes  of  Belief        .        .        . 131 

Of  the  Effects  of  other  Relations  and  other  Habits       .         .         .         .141 

Of  the  Influence  of  Belief 154 

Of  the  Probability  of  Chances 163  | 

Of  the  Probability  of. Causes         ...         .  .         .         .  171_3 

Of  unphilosophical  Probability 185^ 

VOf  the  Idea  of  Necessary  Connection 199 

Rules  by  which  to  judge  of  Causes  and  Effects 221 

^Of  the  Reason  of  Animals 224 

PART    IV. 

OF  THE  SCEPTICAL  AND  OTHER  'SYSTEMS  OF 
PHILOSOPHY. 

Of  Scepticism  with  regard  to  Reason 229 

Of  Scepticism  with  regard  to  the  Senses 237 

Of  the  Ancient  Philosophy  274 

Of  the  Modern  Philosophy 281 

Of  the  Immateriality  of  the  Soul 288 

Of  Personal  Identity     .         . 310  x 

Conclusion  of  this  Book .         .325 


LIFE    OF   THE   AUTHOR 


HIMSELF 


MY    OWN    LIFE 


It  is  difficult  for  a  man  to  speak  long  of  himself  without 
vanity ;  therefore,  I  shall  be  short.  It  may  be  thought  an 
instance  of  vanity  that  I  pretend  at  all  to  write  my  life  ;  but 
this  Narrative  shall  contain  little  more  than  the  History  of 
my  Writings ;  as,  indeed,  almost  all  my  life  has  been  spent 
in  literary  pursuits  and  occupations.  The  first  success  of 
most  of  my  writings  was  not  such  as  to  be  an  object  of 
vanity. 

I  was  born  the  26th  of  April,  1711,  old  style,  at  Edinburgh. 
I  was  of  a  good  family,  both  by  father  and  mother.  My 
father's  family  is  a  branch  of  the  Earl  of  Home's  or  Hume's  ; 
and  my  ancestors  had  been  proprietors  of  the  estate,  which  my 
brother  possesses,  for  several  generations.  My  mother  was 
daughter  of  Sir  David  Falconer,  President  of  the  College  of 
Justice;  the  title  of  Halkerton  came  by  succession  to  her 
brother. 

My  family,  however,  was  not  rich  ;  and,  being  myself  a 
younger  brother,  my  patrimony,  according  to  the  mode  of  my 
country,  was  of  course  very  slender.  My  father,  who  passed 
for  a  man  of  parts,  died  when  I  was  an  infant,  leaving  me, 
with  an  elder  brother  and  a  sister,  under  the  care  of  our 
VOL.  I.  B 


xiv  MY    OWN    LIFE. 

mother,  a  woman  of  singular  merit,  who,  though  young  and 
handsome,  devoted  herself  entirely  to  the  rearing  and  educat- 
ing of  her  children.  I  passed  through  the  ordinary  course  of 
education  with  success,  and  was  seized  very  early  with  a 
passion  for  literature,  which  has  been  the  ruling  passion  of  my 
life,  and  the  great  source  of  my  enjoyments.  My  studious 
disposition,  my  sobriety,  and  my  industry,  gave  my  family  a 
notion  that  the  law  was  a  proper  profession  for  me;  but  I 
found  an  insurmountable  aversion  to  every  thing  but  the  pur- 
suits of  philosophy  and  general  learning;  and  while  they 
fancied  I  was  poring  upon  Voet  and  Vinnius,  Cicero  and 
Virgil  were  the  authors  which  I  was  secretly  devouring. 

My  very  slender  fortune,  however,  being  unsuitable  to  this 
plan  of  life,  and  my  health  being  a  little  broken  by  my  ardent 
application,  I  was  tempted,  or  rather  forced,  to  make  a  very 
feeble  trial  for  entering  into  a  more  active  scene  of  life.  In 
1734,  I  went  to  Bristol,  with  some  recommendations  to 
eminent  merchants,  but  in  a  few  months  found  that  scene 
totally  unsuitable  to  me.  I  went  over  to  France,  with  a  view 
of  prosecuting  my  studies  in  a  country  retreat ;  and  I  there 
laid  that  plan  of  life,  which  I  have  steadily  and  successfully 
pursued.  I  resolved  to  make  a  very  rigid  frugality  supply  my 
deficiency  of  fortune,  to  maintain  unimpaired  my  independ- 
ency, and  to  regard  every  object  as  contemptible,  except  the 
improvement  of  my  talents  in  literature. 

During  my  retreat  in  France,  first  at  Rheims,  but  chiefly  at 
La  Fleche,  in  Anjou,  I  composed  my  Treatise  of  Human 
Nature.  After  passing  three  years  very  agreeably  in  that 
country,  I  came  over  to  London  in  1737.  In  the  end  of  1738, 
I  published  my  Treatise,  and  immediately  went  down  to  my 
mother  and  my  brother,  who  lived  at  his  country-house,  and 


MY    OWN   LIFE.  XV 

was  employing  himself  very  judiciously  and  successfully  in 
the  improvement  of  his  fortune. 

Never  literary  attempt  was  more  unfortunate  than  my 
Treatise  of  Human  Nature.  It  fell  dead-born  from  the  p?"ess, 
without  reaching  such  distinction  as  even  to  excite  a  murmur 
among  the  zealots.  But  being  naturally  of  a  cheerful  and 
sanguine  temper,  I  very  soon  recovered  the  blow,  and  prose- 
cuted with  great  ardor  my  studies  in  the  country.  In  1742, 
I  printed  at  Edinburgh  the  first  part  of  my  Essays  :  the  work 
was  favorably  received,  and  soon  made  me  entirely  forget  my 
former  disappointment.  I  continued  with  my  mother  and 
brother  in  the  country,  and  in  that  time  recovered  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  Greek  language,  which  I  had  too  much  neglected 
in  my  early  youth. 

In  1745,  I  received  a  letter  from  the  Marquis  of  Annandale, 
inviting  me  to  come  and  live  with  him  in  England ;  I  found 
also,  that  the  friends  and  family  of  that  young  nobleman  were 
desirous  of  putting  him  under  my  care'  and  direction,  for  the 
state  of  his  mind  and  health  required  it.  I  lived  with  him  a 
twelvemonth.  My  appointments  during  that  time  made  a 
considerable  accession  to  my  small  fortune.  I  then  received  an 
invitation  from  General  St.  Clair,  to  attend  him  as  a  secretary 
to  his  expedition,  which  was  at  first  meant  against  Canada, 
but  ended  in  an  incursion  on  the  coast  of  France.  Next  year, 
to  wit,  1747,  I  received  an  invitation  from  the  General  to 
attend  him  in  the  same  station  in  his  military  embassy  to  the 
courts  of  Vienna  and  Turin.  I  then  wore  the  uniform  of  an 
officer,  and  was  introduced  at  these  courts  as  aid-de-camp  to 
the  General,  along  with  Sir  Harry  Erskine  and  Captain  Grant, 
now  General  Grant.  These  two  years  were  almost  the  only 
interruptions  which  my  studies  have  received  during  the  course 
of  my  life.     I  passed  them  agreeably,  and  in  good  company ; 


XVI  MY    OWN   LIFE. 

and  my  appointments,  with  my  frugality,  had  made  me  reach 
a  fortune,  which  I  called  independent,  though  most  of  my 
friends  were  inclined  to  smile  when  I  said  so ;  in  short,  I  was 
now  master  of  near  a  thousand  pounds. 

I  had  always  entertained  a  notion,  that  my  want  of  success 
in  publishing  the  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  had  proceeded 
more  from  the  manner  than  the  matter,  and  that  I  had  been 
guilty  of  a  very  usual  indiscretion,  in  going  to  the  press  too 
early.  I,  therefore,  cast  the  first  part  of  that  work  anew  in 
the  Inquiry  concerning  Human  Understanding,  which  was 
published  while  I  was  at  Turin.  But  this  piece  was  at  first 
little  more  successful  than  the  Treatise  of  Human  Nature. 
On  my  return  from  Italy,  I  had  the  mortification  to  find  all 
England  in  a  ferment,  on  account  of  Dr.  Middleton's  Free 
Inquiry,  while  my  performance  was  entirely  overlooked  and 
neglected.  A  new  edition,  which  had  been  published  at  Lon- 
don, of  my  Essays,  Moral  and  Political,  met  not  with  a  much 
better  reception. 

Such  is  the  force  of  natural  temper,  that  these  disappoint- 
ments made  little  or  no  impression  on  me.  I  went  down  in 
1749,  and  lived  two  years  with  my  brother  at  his  country- 
house,  for  my  mother  was  now  dead.  I  there  composed  the 
second  part  of  my  Essays,  which  I  called  Political  Discourses, 
and  also  my  Inquiry  concerning  the  Principles  of  Morals, 
which  is  another  part  of  my  Treatise  that  I  cast  anew.  Mean- 
while, my  bookseller,  A.  Millar,  informed  me,  that  my  former 
publications  (all  but  the  unfortunate  Treatise)  were  beginning 
to  be  the  subject  of  conversation ;  that  the  sale  of  them  was 
gradually  increasing,  and  that  new  editions  were  demanded. 
Answers  by  Reverends  and  Right  Reverends,  came  out  two 
or  three  in  a  year ;  and  I  found,  by  Dr.  Warburton's  railing, 
that  the  books  were  beginning  to  be  esteemed  in  good  com- 


MY    OWN   LIFE.  XV11 

pany.  However,  I  had  a  fixed  resolution,  which  I  inflexibly 
maintained,  never  to  reply  to  anybody ;  and  not  being  very 
irascible  in  my  temper,  I  have  easily  kept  myself  clear  of  all 
literary  squabbles.  These  symptoms  of  a  rising  reputation 
gave  me  encouragement,  as  I  was  ever  more  disposed  to  see 
the  favorable  than  unfavorable  side  of  things  ;  a  turn  of  mind 
which  it  is  more  happy  to  possess,  than  to  be  born  to  an  estate 
of  ten  thousand  a  year. 

In  1751,  I  removed  from  the  country  to  the  town,  the  true 
scene  for  a  man  of  letters.  In  1752,  were  published  at  Edin- 
burgh, where  I  then  lived,  my  Political  Discourses,  the  only 
work  of  mine  that  was  successful  on  the  first  publication.  It 
was  well  received  abroad  and  at  home.  In  the  same  year  was 
published  at  London,  my  Inquiry  concerning  the  Principles  of 
Morals ;  which,  in  my  own  opinion  (who  ought  not  to  judge 
on  that  subject),  is  of  all  my  writings,  historical,  philosophical, 
or  literary,  incomparably  the  best.  It  came  unnoticed  and 
unobserved  into  the  world. 

In  1752,  the  Faculty  of  Advocates  chose  me  their  Librarian, 
an  office  from  which  I  received  little  or  no  emolument,  but 
which  gave  me  the  command  of  a  large  library.  I  then  formed 
the  plan  of  writing  the  History  of  England ;  but  being  fright- 
ened with  the  notion  of  continuing  a  narrative  through  a  period 
of  seventeen  hundred  years,  I  commenced  with  the  accession 
of  the  House  of  Stuart,  an  epoch  when,  I  thought,  the  misrep- 
resentations of  faction  began  chiefly  to  take  place.  I  was,  I 
own,  sanguine  in  my  expectations  of  the  success  of  this  work. 
I  thought  that  I  was  the  only  historian  that  had  at  once  neg- 
lected present  power,  interest,  and  authority,  and  the  cry  of 
popular  prejudices;  and  as  the  subject  was  suited  to  every 
capacity,  I  expected  proportional  applause.  But  miserable 
was  my  disappointment:  I  was  assailed  by  one  cry  of  re- 


XV1U  MY    OWN   LIFE. 

proach,  disapprobation,  and  even  detestation ;  English,  Scotch, 
and  Irish,  Whig  and  Tory,  Churchman  and  Sectary,  Free- 
thinker and  Religionist,  Patriot  and  Courtier,  united  in  their 
rage  against  the  man  who  had  presumed  to  shed  a  generous 
tear  for  the  fate  of  Charles  I.  and  the  Earl  of  Strafford ;  and 
after  the  first  ebullitions  of  their  fury  were  over,  what  was  still 
more  mortifying,  the  book  seemed  to  sink  into  oblivion.  Mr. 
Millar  told  me  that  in  a  twelvemonth,  he  sold  only  forty-five 
copies  of  it.  I  scarcely,  indeed,  heard  of  one  man  in  the  three 
kingdoms,  considerable  for  rank  or  letters,  that  could  endure 
the  book.  I  must  only  except  the  primate  of  England,  Dr. 
Herring,  and  the  primate  of  Ireland,  Dr.  Stone,  which  seem 
two  odd  exceptions.  These  dignified  prelates  separately  sent 
me  messages  not  to  be  discouraged. 

I  was,  however,  I  confess,  discouraged ;  and  had  not  the 
war  been  at  that  time  breaking  out  between  France  and 
England,  I  had  certainly  retired  to  some  provincial  town  of 
the  former  kingdom,  have  changed  my  name,  and  never  more 
have  returned  to  my  native  country.  But  as  this  scheme  was 
not  now  practicable,  and  the  subsequent  volume  was  consider- 
ably advanced,  I  resolved  to  pick  up  courage,  and  to  persevere. 

In  this  interval,  I  published  at  London  my  Natural?  History 
of  Religion,  along  with  some  other  small  pieces.  Its  public 
entry  was  rather  obscure,  except  only  that  Dr.  Hurd  wrote  a 
pamphlet  against  it,  with  all  the  illiberal  petulance,  arrogance, 
and  scurrility  which  distinguish  the  Warburtonian  school. 
This  pamphlet  gave  me  some  consolation  for  the  otherwise 
indifferent  reception  of  my  performance. 

In  1756,  two  years  after  the  fall  of  the  first  volume,  was 
published  the  second  volume  of  my  History,  containing  the 
period  from  the  death  of  Charles  I.  till  the  Revolution.  This 
performance  happened  to  give  less  displeasure  to  the  Whigs, 


MY   OWN   LIFE.  XIX 

and  was  better  received.  It  not  only  rose  itself,  but  helped  to 
buoy  up  its  unfortunate  brother. 

But  though  I  had  been  taught,  by  experience,  that  the  Whig 
party  were  in  possession  of  bestowing  all  places,  both  in  the 
State  and  in  literature,  I  was  so  little  inclined  to  yield  to  their 
senseless  clamor,  that  in  about  a  hundred  alterations  which 
further  study,  reading,  or  reflection  engaged  me  to  make  in  the 
reigns  of  the  two  first  Stuarts,  I  have  made  all  of  them  invari- 
ably to  the  Tory  side.  It  is  ridiculous  to  consider  the  English 
constitution  before  that  period  as  a  regular  plan  of  liberty. 

In  1759,  I  published  my  History  of  the  House  of  Tudor. 
The  clamor  against  this  performance  was  almost  equal  to  that 
against  the  History  of  the  two  first  Stuarts.  The  reign  of 
Elizabeth  was  particularly  obnoxious.  But  I  was  now  cal- 
lous against  the  impressions  of  public  folly,  and  continued 
very  peaceably  and  contentedly  in  my  retreat  at  Edinburgh, 
to  finish,  in  two  volumes,  the  more  early  part  of  the  English 
History,  which  I  gave  to  the  public  in  1761,  with  tolerable, 
and  but  tolerable  success. 

But  notwithstanding  this  variety  of  winds  and  seasons,  to 
which  my  writings  had  been  exposed,  they  had  still  been  mak- 
ing such  advances,  that  the  copy-money  given  me  by  the 
booksellers  much  exceeded  any  thing  formerly  known  in 
England ;  I  was  become  not  only  independent,  but  opulent. 
I  retired  to  my  native  country  of  Scotland,  determined  never 
more  to  set  my  foot  out  of  it ;  and  retaining  the  satisfaction 
of  never  having  preferred  a  request  to  one  great  man,  or  even 
making  advances  of  friendship  to  any  of  them.  As  I  was 
now  turned  of  fifty,  I  thought  of  passing  all  the  rest  of  my 
life  in  this  philosophical  manner,  when  I  received,  in  1763,  an 
invitation  from  the  Earl  of  Hertford,  with  whom  I  was  not  in 
the  least  acquainted,  to  attend  him  on  his  embassy  to  Paris, 


XX  MY   OWN   LIFE. 

with  a  near  prospect  of  being  appointed  secretary  to  the 
embassy,  and,  in  the  meanwhile,  of  performing  the  functions 
of  that  office.  This  offer,  however  inviting,  I  at  first  declined, 
both  because  I  was  reluctant  to  begin  connections  with  the 
great,  and  because  I  was  afraid  that  the  civilities  and  gay 
company  of  Paris  would  prove  disagreeable  to  a  person  of  my 
age  and  humor :  but  on  his  lordship's  repeating  the  invitation, 
I  accepted  of  it.  I  have  every  reason,  both  of  pleasure  and 
interest,  to  think  myself  happy  in  my  connections  with  that 
nobleman,  as  well  as  afterwards  with  his  brother,  General 
Conway. 

Those  who  have  not  seen  the  strange  effects  of  Modes, 
will  never  imagine  the  reception  I  met  with  at  Paris,  from 
men  and  women  of  all  ranks  and  stations.  The  more  I 
resiled  from  their  excessive  civilities,  the  more  I  was  loaded 
with  them.  There  is,  however,  a  real  satisfaction  in  living  at 
Paris,  from  the  great  number  of  sensible,  knowing,  and  polite 
company  with  which  that  city  abounds  above  all  places  in  the 
universe.     I  thought  once  of  settling  there  for  life. 

I  was  appointed  secretary  to  the  embassy ;  and  in  summer 
1765  Lord  Hertford  left  me,  being  appointed  Lord  Lieutenant 
of  Ireland.  I  was  charge  d'affaires  till  the  arrival  of  the  Duke 
of  Richmond,  towards  the  end  of  the  year.  In  the  beginning 
of  1766, 1  left  Paris,  and  next  summer  went  to  Edinburgh,  with 
the  same  view  as  formerly,  of  burying  myself  in  a  philosophi- 
cal retreat.  I  returned  to  that  place,  not  richer,  but  with 
much  more  money,  and  a  much  larger  income,  by  means 
of  Lord  Hertford's  friendship,  than  I  left  it ;  and  I  was 
desirous  of  trying  what  superfluity  could  produce,  as  I  had 
formerly  made  an  experiment  of  a  competency.  But  in  1767, 
I  received  from  Mr.  Conway  an  invitation  to  be  Under-secre- 
tary ;  and  this  invitation,  both  the  character  of  the  person  and 


MY   OWN   LIFE.  XXI 

my  connections  with  Lord  Hertford,  prevented  me  from  de- 
clining. I  returned  to  Edinburgh  in  1769,  very  opulent  (for  I 
possessed  a  revenue  of  £1000  a  year),  healthy,  and,  though 
somewhat  stricken  in  years,  with  the  prospect  of  enjoying  long 
my  ease,  and  of  seeing  the  increase  of  my  reputation. 

In  spring  1775,  I  was  struck  with  a  disorder  in  my  bowels, 
which  at  first  gave  me  no  alarm,  but  has  since,  as  I  apprehend 
it,  become  mortal  and  incurable.  I  now  reckon  upon  a  speedy 
dissolution.  I  have  suffered  very  little  pain  from  my  disorder ; 
and  what  is  more  strange,  have,  notwithstanding  the  great 
decline  of  my  person,  never  suffered  a  moment's  abatement  of 
my  spirits ;  insomuch,  that  were  I  to  name  the  period  of  my 
life  which  I  should  most  choose  to  pass  over  again,  I  might  be 
tempted  to  point  to  this  later  period.  I  possess  the  same 
ardor  as  ever  in  study,  and  the  same  gaiety  in  company.  I 
consider,  besides,  that  a  man  of  sixty-five,  by  dying,  cuts  off 
only  a  few  years  of  infirmities  ;  and  though  I  see  many  symp- 
toms of  my  literary  reputation's  breaking  out  at  last  with  addi- 
tional lustre,  I  knew  that  I  could  have  but  few  years  to  enjoy 
it.  It  is  difficult  to  be  more  detached  from  life  than  I  am  at 
present. 

To  conclude  historically  with  my  own  character.  I  am,  or 
rather  was  (for  that  is  the  style  I  must  now  use  in  speaking  of 
myself,  which  emboldens  me  the  more  to  speak  my  senti- 
ments) ;  I  was,  I  say,  a  man  of  mild  dispositions,  of  command 
of  temper,  of  an  open,  social,  and  cheerful  humor,  capable  of 
attachment,  but  little  susceptible  of  enmity,  and  of  great 
moderation  in  all  my  passions.  Even  my  love  of  literary 
fame,  my  ruling  passion,  never  soured  my  temper,  notwith- 
standing my  frequent  disappointments.  My  company  was 
not  unacceptable  to  the  young  and  careless,  as  well  as  to  the 
studious  and  literary ;  and  as  I  took  a  particular  pleasure  in 


XX11  MY    OWN   LIFE. 

the  company  of  modest  women,  I  had  no  reason  to  be  dis- 
pleased with  the  reception  I  met  with  from  them.  In  a  word, 
though  most  men  anywise  eminent,  have  found  reason  to 
complain  of  calumny,  I  never  was  touched,  or  even  attacked 
by  her  baleful  tooth  :  and  though  I  wantonly  exposed  myself 
to  the  rage  of  both  civil  and  religious  factions,  they  seemed  to 
be  disarmed  in  my  behalf  of  their  wonted  fury.  My  friends 
never  had  occasion  to  vindicate  any  one  circumstance  of  my 
character  and  conduct :  not  but  that  the  zealots,  we  may  well 
suppose,  would  have  been  glad  to  invent  and  propagate  any 
story  to  my  disadvantage,  but  they  could  never  find  any  which 
they  thought  would  wear  the  face  of  probability.  I  cannot 
say  there  is  no  vanity  in  making  this  funeral  oration  of  my- 
self, but  I  hope  it  is  not  a  misplaced  one ;  and  this  is  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  which  is  easily  cleared  and  ascertained. 

April  18,  1776. 


LETTER  FROM  ADAM   SMITH,   LL.D, 


WILLIAM  STRACHAN,  ESQ. 


Kirkaldy,  Fifeshire,  Nov.  9,  1776. 

Dear  Sir, —  It  is  with  a  real,  though  a  very  melancholy 
pleasure,  that  I  sit  down  to  give  you  some  account  of  the 
behavior  of  our  late  excellent  friend,  Mr.  Hume,  during  his 
last  illness. 

Though,  in  his  own  judgment,  his  disease  was  mortal  and 
incurable,  yet  he  allowed  himself  to  be  prevailed  upon,  by 
the  entreaty  of  his  friends,  to  try  what  might  be  the  effects 
of  a  long  journey.  A  few  days  before  he  set  out,  he  wrote 
that  account  of  his  own  life,  which,  together  with  his  other 
papers,  he  has  left  to  your  care.  My  account,  therefore,  shall 
begin  where  his  ends. 

He  set  out  for  London  towards  the  end  of  April,  and  at 
Morpeth  met  with  Mr.  John  Home  and  myself,  who  had  both 
come  down  from  London  on  purpose  to  see  him,  expecting 
to  have  found  him  at  Edinburgh.  Mr.  Home  returned  with 
him,  and  attended  him  during  the  whole  of  his  stay  in  Eng- 
land, with  that  care  and  attention  which  might  be  expected 
from  a  temper  so  perfectly  friendly  and  affectionate.  As  I 
had  written  to  my  mother  that  she  might  expect  me  in  Scot- 


XXIV  LETTER   FROM 

land,  I  was  under  the  necessity  of  continuing  my  journey. 
His  disease  seemed  to  yield  to  exercise  and  change  of  air, 
and  when  he  arrived  in  London,  he  was  apparently  in  much 
better  health  than  when  he  left  Edinburgh.  He  was  advised 
to  go  to  Bath  to  drink  the  waters,  which  appeared  for  some 
time  to  have  so  good  an  effect  upon  him,  that  even  he  himself 
began  to  entertain,  what  he  was  not  apt  to  do,  a  better  opinion 
of  his  own  health.  His  symptoms,  however,  soon  returned 
with  their  usual  violence,  and  from  that  moment  he  gave  up 
all  thoughts  of  recovery,  but  submitted  with  the  utmost  cheer- 
fulness, and  the  most  perfect  complacency  and  resignation. 
Upon  his  return  to  Edinburgh,  though  he  found  himself  much 
weaker,  yet  his  cheerfulness  never  abated,  and  he  continued 
to  divert  himself,  as  usual,  with  correcting  his  own  works  for 
a  new  edition,  with  reading  books  of  amusement,  with  the 
conversation  of  his  friends ;  and,  sometimes  in  the  evening, 
with  a  party  at  his  favorite  game  of  whist.  His  cheerfulness 
was  so  great,  and  his  conversation  and  amusements  run  so 
much  in  their  usual  strain,  that,  notwithstanding  all  bad 
symptoms,  many  people  could  not  believe  he  was  dying. 
"  I  shall  tell  your  friend,  Colonel  Edmondstone,"  said  Doctor 
Dundas  to  him  one  day,  "  that  I  left  you  much  better,  and  in 
a  fair  way  of  recovery."  "  Doctor,"  said  he,  "  as  I  believe 
you  would  not  choose  to  tell  any  thing  but  the  truth,  you  had 
better  tell  him,  that  I  am  dying  as  fast  as  my  enemies,  if  I 
have  any,  could  wish,  and  as  easily  and  cheerfully  as  my  best 
friends  could  desire."  Colonel  Edmondstone  soon  afterwards 
came  to  see  him,  and  take  leave  of  him  ;  and  on  his  way 
home,  he  could  not  forbear  writing  him  a  letter  bidding  him 
once  more  an  eternal  adieu,  and  applying  to  him,  as  to  a 
dying  man,  the  beautiful  French  verses  in  which  the  Abbe* 
Chaulieu,  in  expectation  of  his  own  death,  laments  his  ap- 


DK.    ADAM    SMITH.  XXV 

proaching  separation  from  his  friend,  the  Marquis  de  la  Fare. 
Mr.  Hume's  magnanimity  and  firmness  were  such,  that  his 
most  affectionate  friends  knew  that  they  hazarded  nothing  in 
talking  or  writing  to  him  as  to  a  dying  man,  and  that  so  far 
from  being  hurt  by  this  frankness,  he  was  rather  pleased  and 
flattered  by  it.  I  happened  to  come  into  his  room  while  he 
was  reading  this  letter,  which  he  had  just  received,  and  which 
he  immediately  showed  me.  I  told  him,  that  though  I  was 
sensible  how  very  much  he  was  weakened,  and  that  appear- 
ances were  in  many  respects  very  bad,  yet  his  cheerfulness  was 
still  so  great,  the  spirit  of  life  seemed  still  to  be  so  very  strong 
in  him,  that  I  could  not  help  entertaining  some  faint  hopes. 
He  answered,  "  Your  hopes  are  groundless.  An  habitual 
diarrhoea  of  more  than  a  year's  standing,  would  be  a  very  bad 
disease  at  any  age  :  at  my  age  it  is  a  mortal  one.  When 
I  lie  down  in  the  evening,  I  feel  myself  weaker  than  when 
I  rose  in  the  morning ;  and  when  I  rise  in  the  morning,  weaker 
than  when  I  lay  down  in  the  evening.  I  am  sensible,  besides, 
that  some  of  my  vital  parts  are  affected,  so  that  I  must  soon 
die."  "  Well,"  said  I,  "  if  it  must  be  so,  you  have  at  least 
the  satisfaction  of  leaving  all  your  friends,  your  brother's 
family  in  particular,  in  great  prosperity."  He  said  that  he 
felt  that  satisfaction  so  sensibly^  that  when  he  was  reading, 
a  few  days  before,  Lucian's  Dialogues  of  the  Dead,  among 
all  the  excuses  which  are  alleged  to  Charon  for  not  enter- 
ing readily  into  his  boat,  he  could  not  find  one  that  fitted 
him  ;  he  had  no  house  to  finish,  he  had  no  daughter  to  pro- 
vide for,  he  had  no  enemies  upon  whom  he  wished  to  revenge 
himself.  "  I  could  not  well  imagine,"  said  he,  "  what  excuse 
I  could  make  to  Charon  in  order  to  obtain  a  little  delay.  I 
have  done  every  thing  of  consequence  which  I  ever  meant  to 
do  ;  and  I  could  at  no  time  expect  to  leave  my  relations  and 
VOL.  I.  C 


XXVI  LETTER    FROM 

friends  in  a  better  situation  than  that  in  which  I  am  now- 
likely  to  leave  them.  I  therefore  have  all  reason  to  die  con- 
tented." He  then  diverted  himself  with  inventing  several 
jocular  excuses,  which  he  supposed  he  might  make  to  Charon, 
and  with  imagining  the  very  surly  answers  which  it  might 
suit  the  character  of  Charon  to  return  to  them.  "  Upon  further 
consideration,"  said  he,  "  I  thought  I  might  say  to  him,  Good 
Charon,  I  have  been  correcting  my  works  for  a  new  edition. 
Allow  me  a  little  time,  that  I  may  see  how  the  public  receives 
the  alterations."  But  Charon  would  answer,  "  When  you 
have  seen  the  effect  of  these,  you  will  be  for  making  other 
alterations.  There  will  be  no  end  of  such  excuses ;  so,  honest 
friend,  please  step  into  the  boat."  But  I  might  still  urge, 
"  Have  a  little  patience,  good  Charon  ;  I  have  been  endeavor- 
ing to  open  the  eyes  of  the  public.  If  I  live  a  few  years 
longer,  I  may  have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  downfall  of 
some  of  the  prevailing  systems  of  superstition."  But  Charon 
would  then  lose  all  temper  and  decency.  "  You  loitering 
rogue,  that  will  not  happen  these  many  hundred  years.  Do 
you  fancy  I  will  grant  you  a  lease  for  so  long  a  term  ?  Get 
into  the  boat  this  instant,  you  lazy  loitering  rogue." 

But,  though  Mr.  Hume  always  talked  of  his  approaching 
dissolution  with  great  cheerfulness,  he  never  affected  to  make 
any  parade  of  his  magnanimity.  He  never  mentioned  the 
subject  but  when  the  conversation  naturally  led  to  it,  and 
never  dwelt  longer  upon  it  than  the  course  of  the  conversa- 
tion happened  to  require  :  it  was  a  subject,  indeed,  which 
occurred  pretty  frequently,  in  consequence  of  the  inquiries 
which  his  friends,  who  came  to  see  him,  naturally  made  con- 
cerning the  state  of  his  health.  The  conversation  which  I 
mentioned  above,  and  which  passed  on  Thursday  the  8th  of 
August,  was  the  last,  except  one,  that  I  ever  had  with  him. 


DR.    ADAM    SMITH.  XXV11 

He  had  now  become  so  very  weak,  that  the  company  of  his 
most  intimate  friends  fatigued  him ;  for  his  cheerfulness  was 
still  so  great,  his  complaisance  and  social  disposition  were 
still  so  entire,  that  when  any  friend  was  with  him,  he  could 
not  help  talking  more,  and  with  greater  exertion,  than  suited 
the  weakness  of  his  body.  At  his  own  desire,  therefore,  I 
agreed  to  leave  Edinburgh,  where  I  was  staying  partly  upon 
his  account,  and  returned  to  my  mother's  house  here,  at  Kir- 
kaldy,  upon  condition  that  he  would  send  for  me  whenever  he 
wished  to  see  me ;  the  physician  who  saw  him  most  fre- 
quently, Dr.  Black,  undertaking,  in  the  mean  time,  to  write 
me  occasionally  an  account  of  the  state  of  his  health. 

On  the  22d  of  August,  the  Doctor  wrote  me  the  following 
letter : — 

"  Since  my  last,  Mr.  Hume  has  passed  his  time  pretty 
easily,  but  is  much  weaker.  He  sits  up,  goes  down  stairs 
once  a  day,  and  amuses  himself  with  reading,  but  seldom  sees 
anybody.  He  finds  that  even  the  conversation  of  his  most 
intimate  friends  fatigues  and  oppresses  him ;  and  it  is  happy 
that  he  does  not  need  it,  for  he  is  quite  free  from  anxiety, 
impatience,  or  low  spirits,  and  passes  his  time  very  well  with 
the  assistance  of  amusing  books." 

I  received  the  day  after  a  letter  from  Mr.  Hume  himself,  of 
which  the  following  is  an  extract. 


Edinburgh,  23d  August,  1776. 

"  My  dearest  Friend,  —  I  am  obliged  to  make  use  of  my 
nephew's  hand  in  writing  to  you,  as  I  do  not  rise  to-day. 

*  *  *  *  ***** 

"  I  go  very  fast  to  decline,  and  last  night  had  a  small  feverr 
which  I  hoped  might  put  a  quicker  period  to  this  tedious  ill* 


XXV111  LETTER   FROM 

ness,  but  unluckily  it  has,  in  a  great  measure,  gone  off.  I 
cannot  submit  to  your  coming  over  here  on  my  account,  as  it 
is  possible  for  me  to  see  you  so  small  a  part  of  the  day,  but 
Doctor  Black  can  better  inform  you  concerning  the  degree  of 
strength  which  may  from  time  to  time  remain  with  me. 
Adieu,"  etc. 

Three  days  after  I  received  the  following  letter  from  Doctor 
Black. 

"Edinburgh,  Monday,  26th  August,  1776. 

"  Dear  Sir,  —  Yesterday,  about  four  o'clock,  afternoon, 
Mr.  Hume  expired.  The  near  approach  of  his  death  be- 
came evident  in  the  night  between  Thursday  and  Friday, 
when  his  disease  became  excessive,  and  soon  weakened  him 
so  much  that  he  could  no  longer  rise  out  of  his  bed.  He  con- 
tinued to  the  last  perfectly  sensible,  and  free  from  much  pain 
or  feelings  of  distress.  He  never  dropped  the  smallest  expres- 
sion of  impatience ;  but  when  he  had  occasion  to  speak  to 
the  people  about  him,  always  did  it  with  affection  and  tender- 
ness. I  thought  it  improper  to  write  to  bring  you  over,  espe- 
cially as  I  heard  that  he  had  dictated  a  letter  to  you  desiring 
you  not  to  come.  When  he  became  very  weak,  it  cost  him 
an  effort  to  speak,  and  he  died  in  such  a  happy  composure  of 
mind,  that  nothing  could  exceed  it." 

Thus  died  our  most  excellent  and  never  to  be  forgotten 
friend ;  concerning  whose  philosophical  opinions  men  will,  no 
doubt,  judge  variously,  every  one  approving  or  condemning 
them,  according  as  they  happen  to  coincide  or  disagree  with  his 
own  ;  but  concerning  whose  character  and  conduct  there  can 
scarce  be  a  difference  of  opinion.     His  temper,  indeed,  seemed 


DR.    ADAM    SMITH.  XXIX 

to  be  more  happily  balanced,  if  I  may  be  allowed  such  an  ex- 
pression, than  that  perhaps  of  any  other  man  I  have  ever  known. 
Even  in  the  lowest  state  of  his  fortune,  his  great  and  neces- 
sary frugality  never  hindered  him  from  exercising,  upon  proper 
occasions,  acts  both  of  charity  and  generosity.  It  was  a  fru- 
gality founded,  not  upon  avarice,  but  upon  the  love  of  inde- 
pendency. The  extreme  gentleness  of  his  nature  never  weak- 
ened either  the  firmness  of  his  mind  or  the  steadiness  of  his 
resolutions.  His  constant  pleasantry  was  the  genuine  effu- 
sion of  good  nature  and  good  humor,  tempered  with  delicacy 
and  modesty,  and  without  even  the  slightest  tincture  of 
malignity,  so  frequently  the  disagreeable  source  of  what  is 
called  wit  in  other  men.  It  never  was  the  meaning  of  his 
raillery  to  mortify ;  and,  therefore,  far  from  offending,  it  sel- 
dom failed  to  please  and  delight,  even  those  who  were  the 
objects  of  it.  To  his  friends,  who  were  frequently  the  objects 
of  it,  there  was  not  perhaps  any  one  of  all  his  great  and 
amiable  qualities,  which  contributed  more  to  endear  his  con- 
versation. And  that  gaiety  of  temper,  so  agreeable  in  society, 
but  which  is  so  often  accompanied  with  frivolous  and  super- 
ficial qualities,  was  in  him  certainly  attended  with  the  most 
severe  application,  the  most  extensive  learning,  the  greatest 
depth  of  thought,  and  a  capacity  in  every  respect  the  most 
comprehensive.  Upon  the  whole,  I  have  always  considered 
him,  both  in  his  lifetime  and  since  his  death,  as  approaching 
as  nearly  to  the  idea  of  a  perfectly  wise  and  virtuous  man, 
as  perhaps  the  nature  of  human  frailty  will  permit. 
I  ever  am,  dear  Sir, 

Most  affectionately  yours, 

Adam  Smith. 
C  * 


THE 


LATTER  WILL  AND  TESTAMENT 


DAVID    HUME 


I,  David  Hume,  second  lawful  son  of  Joseph  Home  of 
Ninewells,  advocate,  for  the  love  and  affection  I  bear  to  John 
Home  of  Ninewells,  my  brother,  and  for  other  causes,  do,  by 
these  presents,  under  the  reservations  and  burdens  aftermen- 
tioned,  give  and  dispose  to  the  said  John  Home,  or,  if  he  die 
before  me,  to  David  Home,  his  second  son,  his  heirs  and 
assigns  whatsomever,  all  lands,  heritages,  debts,  and  sums  of 
money,  as  well  heritable  as  movable,  which  shall  belong  to 
me  at  the  time  of  my  decease,  as  also  my  whole  effects  in 
general,  real  and  personal,  with  and  under  the  burden  of  the 
following  legacies,  viz.  to  my  sister  Catherine  Home,  the  sum 
of  twelve  hundred  pounds  sterling,  payable  the  first  term  of 
"Whitsunday  or  Martinmas  after  my  decease,  together  with  all 
my  English  books,  and  the  life-rent  of  my  house  in  St.  James's 
Court,  or  in  case  that  house  be  sold  at  the  time  of  my  decease, 
twenty  pounds  a  year  during  the  whole  course  of  her  life  : 
To  my  friend  Adam  Ferguson,  Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy 
in  the  College  of  Edinburgh,  two  hundred  pounds  sterling : 


LATTER   WILL   AND    TESTAMENT   OF   DAVID    HUME.  XXXI 

To  my  friend  M.  d' Alembert,  member  of  the  French  Academy, 
and  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  in  Paris,  two  hundred  pounds : 
To  my  friend  Dr.  Adam  Smith,  late  Professor  of  Moral  Phi- 
losophy in  Glasgow,  I  leave  all  my  manuscripts  without 
exception,  desiring  him  to  publish  my  Dialogues  on  Natural 
Religion,  which  are  comprehended  in  this  present  bequest; 
but  to  publish  no  other  papers  which  he  suspects  not  to  have 
been  written  within  these  five  years,  but  to  destroy  them  all 
at  his  leisure :  And  I  even  leave  him  full  power  over  all  my 
papers,  except  the  Dialogues  above  mentioned ;  and  though 
I  can  trust  to  that  intimate  and  sincere  friendship,  which  has 
ever  subsisted  between  us,  for  his  faithful  execution  of  this 
part  of  my  will,  yet,  as  a  small  recompense  of  his  pains  in 
correcting  and  publishing  this  work,  I  leave  him  two  hundred 
pounds,  to  be  paid  immediately  after  the  publication  of  it :  I 
also  leave  to  Mrs.  Anne  and  Mrs.  Janet  Hepburn,  daughters 
of  Mr.  James  Hepburn  of  Keith,  one  hundred  pounds  apiece  : 
To  my  cousin  David  Campbell,  son  of  Mr.  Campbell,  minister 
of  Lillysleaf,  one  hundred  pounds  :  To  the  Infirmary  of  Edin- 
burgh, fifty  pounds :  To  all  the  servants  who  shall  be  in  my 
family  at  the  time  of  my  decease,  one  year's  wages ;  and  to 
my  housekeeper,  Margaret  Irvine,  three  years'  wages  :  And  I 
also  ordain,  that  my  brother,  or  nephew,  or  executor,  whoever 
he  be,  shall  not  pay  up  to  the  said  Margaret  Irvine,  without 
her  own  consent,  any  sum  of  money  which  I  shall  owe  her  at 
the  time  of  my  decease,  whether  by  bill,  bond,  or  for  wages, 
but  shall  retain  in  his  hand,  and  pay  her  the  legal  interest 
upon  it,  till  she  demand  the  principal :  And  in  case  my 
brother  above  mentioned  shall  survive  me,  I  leave  to  his  son 
David,  the  sum  of  a  thousand  pounds  to  assist  him  in  his 
education  :  But  in  case  that  by  my  brother's  death  before  me, 
the  succession  of  my  estate  and  effects  shall  devolve  to  the 


XXX11  LATTER   WILL   AND   TESTAMENT 

aforesaid  David,  I  hereby  burden  him,  over  and  above  the 
payment  of  the  aforesaid  legacies,  with  the  payment  of  the 
sums  following :  To  his  brothers  Joseph  and  John,  a  thousand 
pounds  apiece :  To  his  sisters  Catherine  and  Agnes,  five  hun- 
dred pounds  apiece  :  all  which  sums,  as  well  as  every  sum  con- 
tained in  the  present  disposition  (except  that  to  Dr.  Smith),  to 
be  payable  the  first  term  of  Whitsunday  and  Martinmas,  after 
my  decease ;  and  all  of  them,  without  exception,  in  sterling 
money.  And  I  do  hereby  nominate  and  appoint  the  said  John 
Home,  my  brother,  and  failing  of  him  by  decease,  the  said  Da- 
vid Home,  to  be  my  sole  executor  and  universal  legatee,  with 
and  under  the  burdens  above  mentioned  ;  reserving  always  full 
power  and  liberty  to  me,  at  any  time  of  my  life,  even  in 
deathbed,  to  alter  and  innovate  these  presents,  in  whole  or  in 
part,  and  to  burden  the  same  with  such  other  legacies  as  I 
shall  think  fit.  And  I  do  hereby  declare  these  presents  to  be 
a  good,  valid,  and  sufficient  evidence,  albeit  found  in  my 
custody  or  in  the  custody  of  any  other  person  at  the  time  of 
my  death,  etc.  (in  common  style.)  Signed  4  January,  1776, 
before  these  witnesses,  the  Right  Honorable  the  Earl  of  Home, 
and  Mr.  John  M'  Go  wan,  Clerk  to  the  Signet. 

David  Hume. 

I  also  ordain,  that  if  I  shall  die  anywhere  in  Scotland, 
I  shall  be  buried  in  a  private  manner  in  the  Calton  church- 
yard, the  south  side  of  it,  and  a  monument  to  be  built  over 
my  body,  at  an  expense  not  exceeding  a  hundred  pounds, 
with  an  inscription  containing  only  my  name,  with  the  year 
of  my  birth  and  death,  leaving  it  to  posterity  to  add  the  rest. 

David  Hume. 

At  Edinburgh,  15t7i  April,  1776. 


OF    DAVID    HUME.  XXX111 

I  also  leave  for  rebuilding  the  bridge  of  Churnside  the  sum 
of  a  hundred  pounds ;  but  on  condition  that  the  managers  of 
the  bridge  shall  take  none  of  the  stones  for  building  the  bridge 
from  the  quarry  of  Ninewells,  except  from  that  part  of  the 
quarry  which  has  been  already  opened.  I  leave  to  my 
nephew  Joseph,  the  sum  of  fifty  pounds  to  enable  him  to 
make  a  good  sufficient  drain  and  sewer  round  the  house  of 
Ninewells,  but  on  condition  that,  if  that  drain  and  sewer  be 
not  made,  from  whatever  cause,  within  a  year  after  my  death, 
the  said  fifty  pounds  shall  be  paid  to  the  poor  of  the  parish  of 
Churnside :  To  my  sister,  instead  of  all  my  English  books, 
I  leave  her  a  hundred  volumes  at  her  choice  :  To  David 
Waite,  servant  to  my  brother,  I  leave  the  sum  of  ten  pounds, 
payable  the  first  term  after  my  death. 

David  Hume. 


ACCOUNT  OF  THE  CONTROVERSY 


BETWEEN 


HUME  AND  ROUSSEAU 


LONDON:    MD.CC.LXVI. 


ADVERTISEMENT 


OF    THE    FRENCH    EDITORS. 


The  name  and  writings  of  Mr.  Hume  have  been  long  since 
well  known  throughout  Europe.  At  the  same  time,  his  per- 
sonal acquaintance  have  remarked,  in  the  candor  and  simpli- 
city of  his  manners,  that  impartiality  and  ingenuousness  of 
disposition  which  distinguishes  his  character,  and  is  sufficiently 
indicated  in  his  writings. 

He  hath  exerted  those  great  talents  he  received  from  nature, 
and  the  acquisitions  he  made  by  study,  in  the  search  of  truth, 
and  promoting  the  good  of  mankind  ;  never  wasting  his  time, 
or  sacrificing  his  repose,  in  literary  or  personal  disputes.  He 
hath  seen  his  writings  frequently  censured  with  bitterness,  by 
fanaticism,  ignorance,  and  the  spirit  of  party,  without  ever 
giving  an  answer  to  his  adversaries. 

Even  those  who  have  attacked  his  works  with  the  greatest 
violence,  have  always  respected  his  personal  character.  His 
love  of  peace  is  so  well  known,  that  the  criticisms  written 
against  his  pieces,  have  been  often  brought  him  by  their 
respective  authors,  for  him  to  revise  and  correct  them.  At 
one  time,  in  particular,  a  performance  of  this  kind  was  shown 
to  him,  in  which  he  had  been  treated  in  a  very  rude  and  even 
injurious   manner ;    on  remarking   which  to  the    author,  the 

YOL.  I.  D 


XXXV111  ADVERTISEMENT. 

latter  struck  out  the  exceptionable  passages,  blushing  and 
wondering  at  the  force  of  that  polemic  spirit  which  had  carried 
him  imperceptibly  away  beyond  the  bounds  of  truth  and 
decency. 

It  was  with  great  reluctance  that  a  man,  possessed  of  such 
pacific  dispositions,  could  be  brought  to  consent  to  the  publi- 
cation of  the  following  piece.  He  was  very  sensible  that  the 
quarrels  among  men  of  letters  are  a  scandal  to  philosophy ; 
nor  was  any  person  in  the  world  less  formed  for  giving  occa- 
sion to  a  scandal,  so  consolatory  to  blockheads.  But  the 
circumstances  were  such  as  to  draw  him  into  it,  in  spite  of 
his  inclinations. 

All  the  world  knows  that  Mr.  Rousseau,  proscribed  in 
almost  every  country  where  he  resided,  determined  at  length 
to  take  refuge  in  England ;  and  that  Mr.  Hume,  affected  by 
his  situation,  and  his  misfortunes,  undertook  to  bring  him 
over,  and  to  provide  for  him  a  peaceful,  safe,  and  convenient 
asylum.  But  very  few  persons  are  privy  to  the  zeal,  activity, 
and  even  delicacy,  with  which  Mr.  Hume  conferred  this  act 
of  benevolence.  What  an  affectionate  attachment  he  had 
contracted  for  this  new  friend,  which  humanity  had  given 
him !  with  what  address  he  endeavored  to  anticipate  his 
desires,  without  offending  his  pride !  in  short,  with  what 
address  he  strove  to  justify,  in  the  eyes  of  others,  the  singu- 
larities of  Mr.  Rousseau,  and  to  defend  his  character  against 
those  who  were  not  disposed  to  think  so  favorably  of  him  as 
he  did  himself. 

Even  at  the  time  when  Mr.  Hume  was  employed  in  doing 
Mr.  Rousseau  the  most  essential  service,  he  received  from 
him  the  most  insolent  and  abusive  letter.  The  more  such 
a  stroke  was  unexpected,  the  more  it  was  cruel  and  affecting. 
Mr.  Hume  wrote  an  account  of  this  extraordinary  adventure 


ADVERTISEMENT.  XXXIX 

to  his  friends  at  Paris,  and  expressed  himself  in  his  letters 
with  all  that  indignation  which  so  strange  a  proceeding  must 
excite.  He  thought  himself  under  no  obligation  to  keep 
terms  with  a  man,  who,  after  having  received  from  him  the 
most  certain  and  constant  marks  of  friendship,  could  reproach 
him,  without  any  reason,  as  false,  treacherous,  and  as  the 
most  wicked  of  mankind. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  dispute  between  these  two  celebrated 
personages  did  not  fail  to  make  a  noise.  The  complaints  of 
Mr.  Hume  soon  came  to  the  knowledge  of  the  public,  which 
at  first  hardly  believed  it  possible  that  Mr.  Rousseau  could 
be  guilty  of  that  excessive  ingratitude  laid  to  his  charge. 
Even  Mr.  Hume's  friends  were  fearful,  lest,  in  the  first  effu- 
sions of  sensibility,  he  was  not  carried  too  far,  and  had  not 
mistaken  for  wilful  crimes  of  the  heart,  the  vagaries  of  the 
imagination,  or  the  deceptions  of  the  understanding.  He 
judged  it  necessary,  therefore,  to  explain  the  affair,  by  writing 
a  precise  narrative  of  all  that  had  passed  between  him  and 
Mr.  Rousseau,  from  their  first  connection  to  their  rupture. 
This  narrative  he  sent  to  his  friends,  some  of  whom  advised 
him  to  print  it,  alleging,  that  as  Mr.  Rousseau's  accusations 
were  become  public,  the  proofs  of  his  justification  ought  to  be 
so  too.  Mr.  Hume  did  not  give  in  to  these  arguments,  choos- 
ing rather  to  run  the  risk  of  being  unjustly  censured,  than  to 
resolve  on  making  himself  a  public  party  in  an  affair  so  con- 
trary to  his  disposition  and  character.  A  new  incident,  how- 
ever, at  length  overcame  his  reluctance.  Mr.  Rousseau  had 
addressed  a  letter  to  a  bookseller  at  Paris,  in  which  he  directly 
accuses  Mr.  Hume  of  having  entered  into  a  league  with  his 
enemies  to  betray  and  defame  him ;  and  in  which  he  boldly 
defies  Mr.  Hume  to  print  the  papers  he  had  in  his  hands. 
This  letter  was  communicated  to  several   persons  in  Paris, 


Xl  ADVERTISEMENT. 

was  translated  into  English,  and  the  translation  printed  in 
the  public  papers  in  London.  An  accusation  and  defiance 
so  very  public  could  not  be  suffered  to  pass  without  reply, 
while  any  long  silence  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Hume  might  have 
been  interpreted  little  in  his  favor. 

Besides,  the  news  of  this  dispute  had  spread  itself  over 
Europe,  and  the  opinions  entertained  of  it  were  various.  It 
had  doubtless  been  much  happier,  if  the  whole  affair  had 
been  buried  in  oblivion,  and  remained  a  profound  secret; 
but  as  it  was  impossible  to  prevent  the  public  interesting 
itself  in  the  controversy,  it  became  necessary  at  least  that  the 
truth  of  the  matter  should  be  known.  Mr.  Hume's  friends 
unitedly  represented  to  him  all  these  reasons,  the  force  of 
which  he  was  at  length  convinced  of;  and  seeing  the  neces- 
sity, consented,  though  with  reluctance,  to  the  printing  of  his 
memorial. 

The  narrative,  and  notes,  are  translated  from  the  English* 
The  letters  of  Mr.  Rousseau,  which  serve  as  authentic  proofs 
of  the  facts  are  exact  copies  of  the  originals.f 

This  pamphlet  contains  many  strange  instances  of  singu- 
larity, that  will  appear  extraordinary  enough  to  those  who  will 
give  themselves  the  trouble  to  peruse  it.  Those  who  do  not 
choose  to  take  the  trouble,  however,  may  possibly  do  better,  as 
its  contents  are  of  little  importance,  except  to  those  who  are 
immediately  interested. 

*  Are  now  re-translated,  for  the  most  part,  from  the  French,  the  French  editors 
having  taken  some  liberties,  not  without  Mr.  Hume's  consent,  with  the  English 
original.  —  English  translator. 

t  In  the  present  edition  Mr.  Hume's  letters  are  printed  verbatim;  and  to  Mr. 
Rousseau's  the  translator  hath  endeavored  to  do  justice,  as  well  with  regard  to  the 
sense  as  the  expression.  Not  that  he  can  flatter  himself  with  having  always 
succeeded  in  the  latter.  He  has  taken  the  liberty  also  to  add  a  note  or  two, 
regarding  some  particular  circumstances  which  had  come  to  his  knowledge. 


ADVERTISEMENT.  xli 

On  the  whole,  Mr.  Hume,  in  offering  to  the  public  the  gen- 
uine pieces  of  his  trial,  has  authorized  us  to  declare,  that  he 
will  never  take  up  the  pen  again  on  the  subject.  Mr.  Rous- 
seau indeed  may  return  to  the  charge  ;  he  may  produce  sup- 
positions, misconstructions,  inferences,  and  new  declamations  ; 
he  may  create  and  realize  new  phantoms,  and  envelop  them 
in  the  clouds  of  his  rhetoric,  he  will  meet  with  no  more  con- 
tradiction. The  facts  are  all  laid  before  the  public,*  and  Mr. 
Hume  submits  his  cause  to  the  determination  of  every  man  of 
sense  and  probity. 

*  The  original  letters  of  both  parties  will  be  lodged  in  the  British  Museum,  on 
account  of  the  above  mentioned  defiance  of  Mr.  Kousseau,  and  his  subsequent 
insinuation,  that  if  they  should  be  published,  they  would  be  falsified. 


D* 


AN 


ACCOUNT    OF   THE    CONTROVERSY 


BETWEEN 


MR.  HUME  AND  MR.  ROUSSEAU. 


August  1,  1766. 

My  connection  with  Mr.  Rousseau  began  in  1762,  when 
the  Parliament  of  Paris  had  issued  an  arret  for  apprehending 
him,  on  account  of  his  Emilius.  I  was  at  that  time  at  Edin- 
burgh. A  person  of  great  worth  wrote  to  me  from  Paris,  that 
Mr.  Rousseau  intended  to  seek  an  asylum  in  England,  and 
desired  I  would  do  him  all  the  good  offices  in  my  power. 
As  I  conceived  Mr.  Rousseau  had  actually  put  his  design  in 
execution,  I  wrote  to  several  of  my  friends  in  London,  recom- 
mending this  celebrated  exile  to  their  favor.  I  wrote  also 
immediately  to  Mr.  Rousseau  himself ;  assuring  him  of  my 
desire  to  oblige,  and  readiness  to  serve  him.  At  the  same 
time,  I  invited  him  to  come  to  Edinburgh,  if  the  situation 
would  be  agreeable,  and  offered  him  a  retreat  in  my  own 
house,  so  long  as  he  should  please  to  partake  of  it.  There 
needed  no  other  motive  to  excite  me  to  this  act  of  humanity, 
than  the  idea  given  me  of  Mr.  Rousseau's  personal  character, 
by  the  friend  who  had  recommended  him,  his  well  known 


HUME   AND   ROUSSEAU.  xllii 

genius  and  abilities,  and  above  all,  his  misfortunes ;  the  very 
cause  of  which  was  an  additional  reason  to  interest  me  in  his 
favor.     The  following  is  the  answer  I  received. 


MR.  ROUSSEAU  TO  MR.  HUME. 

Motiers-Travers,  Feb.  19,  17G3. 

Sir,  —  I  did  not  receive  till  lately,  and  at  this  place,  the 
letter  you  did  me  the  honor  to  direct  to  me  at  London,  the 
2nd  of  July  last,  on  the  supposition  that  I  was  then  arrived  at 
that  capital.  I  should  doubtless  have  made  choice  of  a  retreat 
in  your  country,  and  as  near  as  possible  to  yourself,  if  I  had 
foreseen  what  a  reception  I  was  to  meet  with  in  my  own. 
No  other  nation  could  claim  a  preference  to  England.  And 
this  prepossession,  for  which  I  have  dearly  suffered,  was  at  that 
time  too  natural  not  to  be  very  excusable  ;  but,  to  my  great 
astonishment,  as  well  as  that  of  the  public,  I  have  met  with 
nothing  but  affronts  and  insults,  where  I  hoped  to  have 
found  consolation  at  least,  if  not  gratitude.  How  many 
reasons  have  I  not  to  regret  the  want  of  that  asylum  and 
philosophical  hospitality  I  should  have  found  with  you !  My 
misfortunes,  indeed,  have  constantly  seemed  to  lead  me  in 
a  manner  that  way.  The  protection  and  kindness  of  my  Lord 
Marsha],  your  worthy  and  illustrious  countryman,  hath  brought 
Scotland  home  to  me,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  in  the  midst 
of  Switzerland ;  he  hath  made  you  so  often  bear  a  part  in  our 
conversation,  hath  brought  me  so  well  acquainted  with  your 
virtues,  which  I  before  was  only  with  your  talents,  that  he  in- 
spired me  with  the  most  tender  friendship  for  you,  and  the 
most  ardent  desire  of  obtaining  yours  before  I  even  knew  you 
were  disposed  to  grant  it.     Judge  then  of  the  pleasure  I  feel, 


Xliv  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

at  finding  this  inclination  reciprocal.  No,  Sir,  I  should  pay 
yoar  merit  but  half  its  due,  if  it  were  the  subject  only  of  my 
admiration.  Your  great  impartiality,  together  with  your 
amazing  penetration  and  genius,  would  lift  you  far  above  the 
rest  of  mankind,  if  you  were  less  attached  to  them  by  the 
goodness  of  your  heart.  My  Lord  Marshal,  in  acquainting 
me  that  the  amiableness  of  your  disposition  was  still  greater 
than  the  sublimity  of  your  genius,  rendered  a  correspondence 
with  you  every  day  more  desirable,  and  cherished  in  me  those 
wishes  which  he  inspired,  of  ending  my  days  near  you.  Oh, 
Sir,  that  a  better  state  of  health,  and  more  convenient  circum- 
stances, would  but  enable  me  to  take  such  a  journey  in  the 
manner  I  could  like !  Could  I  but  hope  to  see  you  and  my 
Lord  Marshal  one  day  settled  in  your  own  country,  which 
should  for  ever  after  be  mine,  I  should  be  thankful,  in  such  a 
society,  for  the  very  misfortunes  that  led  me  into  it,  and  should 
account  the  day  of  its  commencement  as  the  first  of  my  life. 
Would  to  Heaven  I  might  live  to  see  that  happy  day,  though 
now  more  to  be  desired  than  expected !  With  what  trans- 
ports should  I  not  exclaim,  on  setting  foot  in  that  happy 
country  which  gave  birth  to  David  Hume  and  the  Lord  Mar- 
shal of  Scotland ! 

Salve,  facis  mihi  debita  tellus  ! 
Usee  domus,  hscc  patria  est. 

J.  J.  R. 

This  letter  is  not  published  from  a  motive  of  vanity ;  as 
will  be  seen  presently,  when  I  give  the  reader  a  recantation  of 
all  the  eulogies  it  contains ;  but  only  to  complete  the  course 
of  our  correspondence,  and  to  show  that  I  have  been  long 
since  disposed  to  Mr.  Rousseau's  service. 

From   this   time   our    correspondence   entirely   ceased,   till 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  xlv 

about  the  middle  of  last  autumn  (1765),  when  it  was  renewed 
by  the  following  accident.  A  certain  lady  of  Mr.  Rousseau's 
acquaintance,  being  on  a  journey  to  one  of  the  French  pro- 
vinces, bordering  on  Switzerland,  had  taken  that  opportunity 
of  paying  a  visit  to  our  solitary  philosopher,  in  his  retreat  at 
Mo  tiers-  Travers.  To  this  lady  he  complained,  that  his  situ- 
ation in  Neufchatel  was  become  extremely  disagreeable,  as 
well  on  account  of  the  superstition  of  the  people,  as  the  resent- 
ment of  the  clergy ;  and  that  he  was  afraid  he  should  shortly 
be  under  the  necessity  of  seeking  an  asylum  elsewhere;  in 
which  case,  England  appeared  to  him,  from  the  nature  of  its 
laws  and  government,  to  be  the  only  place  to  which  he  could 
retire  with  perfect  security ;  adding,  that  my  Lord  Marshal, 
his  former  protector,  had  advised  him  to  put  himself  under 
my  protection,  (that  was  the  term  he  was  pleased  to  make  use 
of,)  and  that  he  would  accordingly  address  himself  to  me,  if 
he  thought  it  would  not  be  giving  me  too  much  trouble. 

I  was  at  that  time  charged  with  the  affairs  of  England  at 
the  court  of  France ;  but  as  I  had  the  prospect  of  soon  return- 
ing to  London,  I  could  not  reject  a  proposal  made  to  me 
under  such  circumstances,  by  a  man  so  celebrated  for  his 
genius  and  misfortunes.  As  soon  as  I  was  thus  informed, 
therefore,  of  the  situation  and  intentions  of  Mr.  Rousseau, 
I  wrote  to  him,  making  him  an  ofTer  of  my  services  ;  to  which 
he  returned  the  following  answer. 


MR.  ROUSSEAU   TO   MR.  HUME. 

Strasbourg,  December  4,  1765. 

Sir,  —  Your  goodness  affects  me  as  much  as  it  does  me 
honor.     The  best  reply  I  can  make  to  your  offers  is  to  accept 


Xlvi  CONTROVERSY    BETWEEN 

them,  which  I  do.  I  shall  set  out  in  five  or  six  days  to  throw 
myself  into  your  arms.  Such  is  the  advice  of  my  Lord  Mar- 
shal, my  protector,  friend,  and  father;  it  is  the  advice  also  of 
Madam  *  *  *  f  whose  good  sense  and  benevolence  serve  equally 
for  my  direction  and  consolation ;  in  fine,  I  may  say»  it  is  the 
advice  of  my  own  heart,  which  takes  a  pleasure  in  being  in- 
debted to  the  most  illustrious  of  my  contemporaries,  to  a  man 
whose  goodness  surpasses  his  glory.  I  sigh  after  a  solitary 
and  free  retirement,  wherein  I  might  finish  my  days  in  peace. 
If  this  be  procured  me  by  means  of  your  benevolent  solicitude, 
I  shall  then  enjoy  at  once  the  pleasure  of  the  only  blessing 
my  heart  desires,  and  also  that  of  being  indebted  for  it  to  you. 
I  am,  Sir,  with  all  my  heart,  etc. 

J.  J.  R. 

Not  that  I  had  deferred  till  this  time  my  endeavors  to  be 
useful  to  Mr.  Rousseau.  The  following  letter  was  communi- 
cated to  me  by  Mr.  Clairaut,  some  weeks  before  his  death. 


MR.  ROUSSEAU   TO   MR.  CLAIRAUT. 

Motiers-Travers,  March  3,  1765. 

Sir,- — The  remembrance  of  your  former  kindness,  induces 
me  to  be  again  importunate.  It  is  to  desire  you  will  be  so 
good,  for  the  second  time,  to  be  the  censor  of  one  of  my  per- 
formances.    It  is  a  very  paltry  rhapsody,  which   I  compiled 

t  The  person  here  mentioned  desired  her  name  might  be  suppressed.  —  French 
Editor. 

As  the  motive  to  the  suppression  of  the  lady's  name  can  hardly  be  supposed  to 
extend  to  this  country,  the  English  translator  takes  the  liberty  to  mention  the  name 
of  the  Marchioness  de  Verdelin. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  xlvii 

many  years  ago,  under  the  title  of  A  Musical  Dictionary,  and 
am  now  obliged  to  republish  it  for  subsistence.  Amidst  the 
torrent  of  misfortunes  that  overwhelm  me,  I  am  not  in  a  situa- 
tion to  review  the  work ;  which,  I  know,  is  full  of  oversights 
and  mistakes.  If  any  interest  you  may  take  in  the  lot  of  the 
most  unfortunate  of  mankind,  should  induce  you  to  bestow  a 
little  more  attention  on  his  work  than  on  that  of  another,  I 
should  be  extremely  obliged  to  you,  if  you  would  take  the 
trouble  to  correct  such  errors  as  you  may  meet  with  in  the 
perusal.  To  point  them  out,  without  correcting  them,  would 
be  doing  nothing,  for  I  am  absolutely  incapable  of  paying  the 
least  attention  to  such  a  work ;  so  that  if  you  would  but  con- 
descend to  alter,  add,  retrench,  and,  in  short,  use  it  as  you 
would  do  your  own,  you  would  do  a  great  charity,  for  which 
I  should  be  extremely  thankful.  Accept,  Sir,  my  most  hum- 
ble excuses  and  salutations. 

J.  J.  R. 

It  is  with  reluctance  I  say  it,  but  I  am  compelled  to  it ;  I 
now  know  of  a  certainty  that  this  affectation  of  extreme 
poverty  and  distress  was  a  mere  pretence,  a  petty  kind  of 
imposture  which  Mr.  Rousseau  successfully  employed  to 
excite  the  compassion  of  the  public;  but  I  was  then  very 
far  from  suspecting  any  such  artifice.  I  must  own,  I  felt  on 
this  occasion  an  emotion  of  pity,  mixed  with  indignation,  to 
think  a  man  of  letters  of  such  eminent  merit,  should  be  re- 
duced, in  spite  of  the  simplicity  of  his  manner  of  living,  to 
such  extreme  indigence  ;  and  that  this  unhappy  state  should 
be  rendered  more  intolerable  by  sickness,  by  the  approach  of 
old  age,  and  the  implacable  rage  of  persecution.  I  knew  that 
many  persons  imputed  the  wretchedness  of  Mr.  Rousseau  to 
his  excessive  pride,  which  induced  him  to  refuse  the  assistance 


Xlviii  CONTROVERSY    BETWEEN 

of  his  friends ;  but  I  thought  this  fault,  if  it  were  a  fault,  was 
a  very  respectable  one.  Too  many  men  of  letters  have  de- 
based their  character  in  stooping  so  low  as  to  solicit  the 
assistance  of  persons  of  wealth  or  power,  unworthy  of  afford- 
ing them  protection ;  and  I  conceived  that  a  noble  pride, 
even  though  carried  to  excess,  merited  some  indulgence  in 
a  man  of  genius,  who,  borne  up  by  a  sense  of  his  own  supe- 
riority and  a  love  of  independence,  should  have  braved  the 
storms  of  fortune  and  the  insults  of  mankind.  I  proposed, 
therefore,  to  serve  Mr.  Rousseau  in  his  own  way.  I  desired 
Mr.  Clairaut,  accordingly,  to  give  me  his  letter,  which  I 
showed  to  several  of  Mr.  Rousseau's  friends  and  patrons  in 
Paris.  At  the  same  time  I  proposed  to  them  a  scheme  by 
which  he  might  be  relieved,  without  suspecting  any  thing  of 
the  matter.  This  was  to  engage  the  bookseller,  who  was  to 
publish  his  Dictionary,  to  give  Mr.  Rousseau  a  greater  sum 
for  the  copy  than  he  had  offered,  and  to  indemnify  him  by 
paying  him  the  difference.  But  this  project,  which  could  not 
be  executed  without  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Clairaut,  fell  to  the 
ground  at  the  unexpected  decease  of  that  learned  and  respect- 
able academician. 

Retaining,  however,  still  the  same  idea  of  Mr.  Rousseau's 
excessive  poverty,  I  constantly  retained  the  same  inclination 
to  oblige  him ;  and  when  I  was  informed  of  his  intention  to 
go  to  England  under  my  conduct,  I  formed  a  scheme  much 
of  the  same  kind  with  that  I  could  not  execute  at  Paris.  I 
wrote  immediately  to  my  friend,  Mr.  John  Stewart  of  Buck- 
ingham Street,  that  I  had  an  affair  to  communicate  to  him, 
of  so  secret  and  delicate  a  nature,  that  I  should  not  venture 
even  to  commit  it  to  paper,  but  that  he  might  learn  the  par- 
ticulars of  Mr.  Elliot,  (now  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot,)  who  would 
soon  return  from  Paris  to  London.     The  plan  was  this,  and 


HUME   AND   ROUSSEAU.  xlix 

was  really  communicated  by  Mr.  Elliot  some  time  after  to 
Mr.  Stewart,  who  was  at  the  same  time  enjoined  to  the 
greatest  secrecy. 

Mr.  Stewart  was  to  look  out  for  some  honest  discreet  farmer 
in  his  neighborhood  in  the  country,  who  might  be  willing  to 
lodge  and  board  Mr.  Rousseau  and  his  gouvernante  in  a  very 
decent  and  plentiful  manner,  at  a  pension  which  Mr.  Stewart 
might  settle  at  fifty  or  sixty  pounds  a  year;  the  farmer  engag- 
ing to  keep  such  agreement  a  profound  secret,  and  to  receive 
from  Mr.  Rousseau  only  twenty  or  twenty-five  pounds  a  year, 
I  engaging  to  supply  the  difference. 

It  was  not  long  before  Mr.  Stewart  wrote  me  word  he  had 
found  a  situation  which  he  conceived  might  be  agreeable  ; 
on  which  I  desired  he  would  get  the  apartment  furnished  in 
a  proper  and  convenient  manner  at  my  expense.  But  this 
scheme,  in  which  there  could  not  possibly  enter  any  motive  of 
vanity  on  my  part,  secrecy  being  a  necessary  condition  of  its 
execution,  did  not  take  place,  other  designs  presenting  them- 
selves more  convenient  and  agreeable.  The  fact,  however,  is 
well  known  both  to  Mr.  Stewart  and  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot. 

It  will  not  be  improper  here  to  mention  another  plan  con- 
certed with  the  same  intentions.  *I  had  accompanied  Mr. 
Rousseau  into  a  very  pleasant  part  of  the  county  of  Surry, 
where  he  spent  two  days  at  Colonel  Webb's,  Mr.  Rousseau 
seeming  to  me  highly  delighted  with  the  natural  and  solitary 
beauties  of  the  place.  Through  the  means  of  Mr.  Stewart, 
therefore,  I  entered  into  treaty  with  Colonel  Webb  for  the 
purchasing  the  house,  with  a  little  estate  adjoining,  in  order 
to  make  a  settlement  for  Mr.  Rousseau.  If,  after  what  has 
passed,  Mr.  Rousseau's  testimony  be  of  any  validity,  I  may 
appeal  to  himself  for  the  truth  of  what  I  advance.     But  be 

VOL.  I.  E 


1  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

this  as  it  will,  these  facts  are  well  known  to  Mr.  Stewart,  to 
General  Clarke,  and  in  part  to  Colonel  Webb. 

But  to  proceed  in  my  narrative.  Mr.  Rousseau  came  to 
Paris,  provided  with  a  passport  which  his  friends  had  ob- 
tained for  him.  I  conducted  him  to  England.  For  upwards 
of  two  months  after  our  arrival,  I  employed  myself  and  my 
friends  in  looking  out  for  some  agreeable  situation  for  him. 
We  gave  way  to  all  his  caprices ;  excused  all  his  singular- 
ities ;  indulged  him  in  all  his  humors ;  in  short,  neither  time 
nor  trouble  was  spared  to  procure  him  what  he  desired ;  *  and, 
notwithstanding  he  rejected  several  of  the  projects  which  I 
had  laid  out  for  him,  yet  I  thought  myself  sufficiently  recom- 
pensed for  my  trouble  by  the  gratitude  and  even  affection 
with  which  he  appeared  to  repay  my  solicitude. 

At  length  his  present  settlement  was  proposed  and  ap- 
proved. Mr.  Davenport,  a  gentleman  of  family,  fortune,  and 
worth,  offered  him  his  house  at  Wooton,  in  the  county  of 
Derby,  where  he  himself  seldom  resides,  and  at  which  Mr. 
Rousseau  and  his  housekeeper  are  boarded  at  a  very  moderate 
expense. 

When  Mr.  Rousseau  arrived  at  Wooton,  he  wrote  me  the 
following  letter. 


*  It  is  probably  to  this  excessive  and  ill-judged  complaisance  Mr.  Hume  may  in 
a  great  degree  impute  the  disagreeable  consequences  that  have  followed.  There 
is  no  end  in  indulging  caprice,  nor  any  prudence  in  doing  it,  when  it  is  known  to 
be  such.  It  may  be  thought  humane  to  indulge  the  weak  of  body  or  mind,  the  de- 
crepitude of  age,  and  imbecility  of  childhood ;  but  even  here  it  too  often  proves 
cruelty  to  the  very  parties  indulged.  How  much  more  inexcusable,  therefore,  is  it 
to  cherish  the  absurdities  of  whim  and  singularity  in  men  of  genius  and  abilities ! 
How  is  it  possible  to  make  a  man  easy  or  happy  in  a  world,  to  whose  customs  and 
maxims  he  is  determined  to  run  retrograde  ?  No.  Capricious  men,  like  froward 
children,  should  be  left  to  kick  against  the  pricks,  and  vent  their  spleen  unnoticed. 
To  humor,  is  only  to  spoil  them. — English  Translator. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  H 


MR.  ROUSSEAU  TO  MR.  HUME. 

Wooton,  March  22,  1766. 

You  see  already,  my  dear  patron,  by  the  date  of  my  letter, 
that  I  am  arrived  at  the  place  of  my  destination ;  but  you 
cannot  see  all  the  charms  which  I  find  in  it.  To  do  this,  you 
should  be  acquainted  with  the  situation,  and  be  able  to  read 
my  heart.  You  ought,  however,  to  read  at  least  those  of  my 
sentiments  with  respect  to  you,  and  which  you  have  so  well 
deserved.  If  I  live  in  this  agreeable  asylum  as  happy  as  I 
hope  to  do,  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  of  my  life  will  be 
to  reflect  that  I  owe  it  to  you.  To  make  another  happy,  is  to 
deserve  to  be  happy  one's  self.  May  you  therefore  find  in 
yourself  the  reward  of  all  you  have  done  for  me!  Had  I 
been  alone,  I  might  perhaps  have  met  with  hospitality ;  but 
I  should  have  never  relished  it  so  highly  as  I  now  do  in  owing 
it  to  your  friendship.  Retain  still  that  friendship  for  me,  my 
dear  patron ;  love  me  for  my  sake,  who  am  so  much  indebted 
to  you ;  love  me  for  your  own,  for  the  good  you  have  done 
me.  I  am  sensible  of  the  full  value  of  your  sincere  friendship  : 
it  is  the  object  of  my  ardent  wishes :  I  am  ready  to  repay  it 
with  all  mine,  and  feel  something  in  my  heart  which  may 
one  day  convince  you  that  it  is  not  without  its  value.  As, 
for  the  reasons  agreed  on  between  us,  I  shall  receive  nothing 
by  the  post,  you  will  be  pleased,  when  you  have  the  good- 
ness to  write  to  me,  to  send  your  letters  to  Mr.  Davenport. 
The  affair  of  the  carriage  is  not  yet  adjusted,  because  I  know 
I  was  imposed  on.  It  is  a  trifling  fault,  however,  which  may 
be  only  the  effect  of  an  obliging  vanity,  unless  it  should 
happen  to  be  repeated.     If  you  were  concerned  in  it,  I  would 


Hi  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

advise  you  to  give  up,  once  for  all,  these  little  impositions, 
which  cannot  proceed  from  any  good  motive,  when  con- 
verted into  snares  for  simplicity.  I  embrace  you,  my  dear 
patron,  with  the  same  cordiality  which  I  hope  to  find  in  you. 

J.  J.  R. 

Some  days  after,  I  received  from  him  another  letter,  of 
which  the  following  is  a  copy. 


MR.  ROUSSEAU  TO  MR.  HUME. 

Wooton,  March  29,  1766. 

You  will  see,  my  dear  patron,  by  the  letter  Mr.  Davenport 
will  have  transmitted  you,  how  agreeably  I  find  myself  situ- 
ated in  this  place.  I  might  perhaps  be  more  at  my  ease 
if  I  were  less  noticed ;  but  the  solicitude  of  so  polite  an  host 
as  mine  is  too  obliging  to  give  offence;  and  as  there  is 
nothing  in  life  without  its  inconvenience,  that  of  being  too 
good  is  one  of  those  which  is  the  most  tolerable.  I  find 
a  much  greater  inconvenience  in  not  being  able  to  make  the 
servants  understand  me,  and  particularly  in  my  not  under- 
standing them.  Luckily  Mrs.  le  Vasseur  serves  me  as  inter- 
preter, and  her  fingers  speak  better  than  my  tongue.  There 
is  one  advantage,  however,  attending  my  ignorance,  which 
is  a  kind  of  compensation ;  it  serves  to  tire  and  keep  at  a 
distance  impertinent  visitors.  The  minister  of  the  parish 
came  to  see  me  yesterday,  who,  finding  that  I  spoke  to  him 
only  in  French,  would  not  speak  to  me  in  English,  so  that 
our  interview  was  almost  a  silent  one.  I  have  taken  a  great 
fancy  to  this  expedient,  and  shall  make  use  of  it  with  all  my 
neighbors,  if  I  have  any.     Nay,  should  I  even  learn  to  speak 


HUME   AND   ROUSSEAU.  liii 

English,  I  would  converse  with  them  only  in  French,  espe- 
cially if  I  were  so  happy  as  to  find  they  did  not  understand 
a  word  of  that  language  ;  an  artifice  this,  much  of  the  same 
kind  with  that  which  the  Negroes  pretend  is  practised  by  the 
monkeys,  who,  they  say,  are  capable  of  speech,  but  cannot 
be  prevailed  upon  to  talk,  lest  they  should  be  set  to  work. 

It  is  not  true  in  any  sense  that  I  agreed  to  accept  01 
a  model  from  Mr.  Gosset  as  a  present.  On  the  contrary, 
I  asked  him  the  price,  which  he  told  me  was  a  guinea  and 
half,  adding  that  he  intended  to  present  me  with  it ;  an  offer 
I  did  not  accept.  I  desire  you  therefore  to  pay  him  for  it, 
and  Mr.  Davenport  will  be  so  good  as  to  repay  you  the 
money.  And  if  Mr.  Gosset  does  not  consent  to  be  paid 
for  it,  it  must  be  returned  to  him,  and  purchased  by  some 
other  hand.  It  is  designed  for  Mr.  du  Peyrou,  who  desired 
long  since  to  have  my  portrait,  and  caused  one  to  be  painted 
in  miniature,  which  is  not  at  all  like  me.  You  were  more 
fortunate  in  this  respect  than  me  ;  but  I  am  sorry  that,  by 
your  assiduity  to  serve  me,  you  deprived  me  of  the  pleasure 
of  discharging  the  same  friendly  obligation  with  regard  to 
yourself.  Be  so  good,  my  dear  patron,  as  to  order  the  model 
to  be  sent  to  Messrs.  Guinand  and  Hankey,  Little  St.  Helen's, 
Bishopsgate  Street,  in  order  to  be  transmitted  to  Mr.  du 
Peyrou  by  the  first  safe  conveyance.  It  hath  been  a  frost 
«ver  since  I  have  been  here ;  the  snow  falls  daily ;  and  the 
wind  is  cutting  and  severe ;  notwithstanding  all  which,  I 
had  rather  lodge  in  the  hollow  trunk  of  an  old  tree,  in  this 
country,  than  in  the  most  superb  apartment  in  London. 
Good  day,  my  dear  patron.  I  embrace  you  with  all  my 
heart.  J.  J.  R. 

Mr.  Rousseau  and  I  having  agreed  not  to  lay  each  other 

E* 


llV  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

under  any  restraint  by  a  continued  correspondence,  the  only 
subject  of  our  future  letters  was  the  obtaining  a  pension  for 
him  from  the  King  of  England,  which  was  then  in  agitation, 
and  of  which  affair  the  following  is  a  concise  and  faithful 
relation. 

As  we  were  conversing  together  cue  evening  at  Calais, 
where  we  were  detained  by  contrary  winds,  I  asked  Mr. 
Rousseau  if  he  would  not  accept  of  a  pension  from  the 
King  of  England,  in  case  his  Majesty  should  be  pleased 
to  grant  him  one.  To  this  he  replied,  it  was  a  matter  of 
some  difficulty  to  resolve  on,  but  that  he  should  be  entirely 
directed  by  the  advice  of  my  Lord  Marshal.  Encouraged 
by  this  answer,  I  no  sooner  arrived  in  London  than  I  ad- 
dressed myself  to  his  Majesty's  Ministers,  and  particularly 
to  General  Conway,  Secretary  of  State,  and  General  Graeme, 
Secretary  and  Chamberlain  to  the  Queen.  Application  was 
accordingly  made  to  their  Majesties,  who,  with  their  usual 
goodness,  consented,  on  condition  only  that  the  affair  should 
not  be  made  public.  Mr.  Rousseau  and  I  both  wrote  to  my 
Lord  Marshal ;  and  Mr.  Rousseau  expressly  observed  in  his 
letter,  that  the  circumstance  of  the  affair's  being  to  be  kept 
secret  was  very  agreeable  to  him.  The  consent  of  my  Lord 
Marshal  arrived,  as  may  readily  be  imagined ;  soon  after 
which  Mr.  Rousseau  set  out  for  Wooton,  while  the  business 
remained  some  time  in  suspense,  on  account  of  the  indispo- 
sition of  General  Conway. 

In  the  mean  time,  I  began  to  be  afraid,  from  what  I  had 
observed  of  Mr.  Rousseau's  disposition  and  character,  that 
his  natural  restlessness  of  mind  would  prevent  the  enjoyment 
of  that  repose,  to  which  the  hospitality  and  security  he  found 
in  England  invited  him.  I  saw,  with  infinite  regret,  that  he 
was  born  for  storms  and  tumults,  and  that  the  disgust  which 


HUME   AND   ROUSSEAU.  lv 

might  succeed  the  peaceful  enjoyment  of  solitude  and  tran- 
quillity, would  soon  render  him  a  burden  to  himself  and 
everybody  about  him.*  But,  as  I  lived  at  the  distance  of 
an  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  the  place  of  his  residence, 
and  was  constantly  employed  in  doing  him  good  offices, 
I  did  not  expect  that  I  myself  should  be  the  victim  of  this 
unhappy  disposition. 

It  is  necessary  to  introduce  here  a  letter,  which  was  written 
last  winter,  at  Paris,  in  the  name  of  the  King  of  Prussia. 


My  dear  John  James,  —  You  have  renounced  Geneva, 
your  native  soil.  You  have  been  driven  from  Switzerland, 
a  country  of  which  you  have  made  such  boast  in  your  writ- 
ings. In  France  you  are  outlawed:  come  then  to  me.  I 
admire  your  talents,  and  amuse  myself  with  your  reveries ; 
on  which,  however,  by  the  way,  you  bestow  too  much  time 
and  attention.  It  is  high  time  to  grow  prudent  and  happy ; 
you  have  made  yourself  sufficiently  talked  of  for  singularities 
little  becoming  a  truly  great  man :  show  your  enemies  that 
you  have  sometimes  common  sense :  this  will  vex  them 
without  hurting  you.  My  dominions  afford  you  a  peaceable 
retreat :  I  am  desirous  to  do  you  good,  and  will  do  it,  if  you 


*  In  forming  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Rousseau's  disposition,  Mr.  Hume  was  by 
no  means  singular.  The  striking  features  of  Mr.  Rousseau's  extraordinary  cha- 
racter having  been  strongly  marked  in  the  criticisms  on  his  several  writings,  in  the 
Monthly  Review,  particularly  in  the  account  of  his  Letters  from  the  Mountains, 
in  the  appendix  to  the  31st  vol.  of  that  work,  where  this  celebrated  genius  is  de- 
scribed, merely  from  the  general  tenor  of  his  writings  and  the  outlines  of  his 
public  conduct,  to  be  exactly  such  a  kind  of  person  as  Mr.  Hume  hath  discovered 
him  from  intimate  and  personal  acquaintance. — English  Translator. 


lvi  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

can  but  think  it  such.  But  if  you  are  determined  to  refuse 
my  assistance,  you  may  expect  that  I  shall  say  not  a  word 
about  it  to  any  one.  If  you  persist  in  perplexing  your  brains 
to  find  out  new  misfortunes,  choose  such  as  you  like  best ; 
I  am  a  king,  and  can  make  you  as  miserable  as  you  can  wish  ; 
at  the  same  time,  I  will  engage  to  do  that  which  your  enemies 
never  will,  I  will  cease  to  persecute  you,  when  you  are  no 
longer  vain  of  persecution. 

Your  sincere  friend, 

Frederick. 

This  letter  was  written  by  Mr.  Horace  Walpole,  about 
three  weeks  before  I  left  Paris ;  but  though  we  lodged  in  the 
same  hotel,  and  were  often  together,  Mr.  Walpole,  out  of 
regard  to  me,  carefully  concealed  this  piece  of  pleasantry  till 
after  my  departure.  He  then  showed  it  to  some  friends,  who 
took  copies ;  and  those  of  course  presently  multiplied ;  so  that 
this  little  piece  had  been  spread  with  rapidity  all  over  Europe, 
and  was  in  everybody's  hands  when  I  saw  it,  for  the  first 
time,  in  London. 

I  believe  every  one  will  allow,  who  knows  any  thing  of 
the  liberty  of  this  country,  that  such  a  piece  of  raillery  could 
not,  even  by  the  utmost  influence  of  kings,  lords,  and  com- 
mons, by  all  the  authority  ecclesiastical,  civil,  and  military, 
be  kept  from  finding  its  way  to  the  press.  It  was  accordingly 
published  in  the  St.  James's  Chronicle,  and  a  few  days  after  I 
was  very  much  surprised  to  find  the  following  piece  in  the 
same  paper. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lvU 


MR.  ROUSSEAU  TO   THE   AUTHOR  OF  THE   ST.  JAMES'S 
CHRONICLE. 

Wooton,  April  7,  1766. 

Sir, —  You  have  been  wanting  in  that  respect  which  e very- 
private  person  owes  to  crowned  heads,  in  publicly  ascribing 
to  the  King  of  Prussia,  a  letter  full  of  baseness  and  extrava- 
gance ;  by  which  circumstance  alone,  you  might  be  very  well 
assured  he  could  not  be  the  author.  You  have  even  dared 
to  subscribe  his  name,  as  if  you  had  seen  him  write  it  with 
his  own  hand.  I  inform  you,  Sir,  that  this  letter  was  fabri- 
cated at  Paris,  and,  what  rends  and  afflicts  my  heart,  that 
the  impostor  hath  his  accomplices  in  England. 

In  justice  to  the  King  of  Prussia,  to  truth,  and  to  myself, 
you  ought  therefore  to  print  the  letter  I  am  now  writing,  and 
to  which  I  set  my  name,  by  way  of  reparation  for  a  fault, 
which  you  would  undoubtedly  reproach  yourself  for,  if  you 
knew  of  what  atrociousness  you  have  been  made  the  instru- 
ment.    Sir,  I  make  you  my  sincere  salutations.  J.  J.  R. 

I  was  sorry  to  see  Mr.  Rousseau  display  such  an  excess 
of  sensibility,  on  account  of  so  simple  and  unavoidable  an 
incident,  as  the  publication  of  this  pretended  letter  from 
the  King  of  Prussia.  But  I  should  have  accused  myself 
of  a  most  black  and  malevolent  disposition,  if  I  had  imagined 
Mr.  Rousseau  could  have  suspected  me  to  have  been  the 
editor  of  it,  or  that  he  had  intentionally  directed  his  resent- 
ment against  me.  He  now  informs  me,  however,  that  this 
was  really  the  case.  Just  eight  days  before,  I  had  received 
a  letter  written   in   the   most    amicable  terms   imaginable.* 

*  That  of  the  29th  of  March. 


lviil  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

I  am,  surely,  the  last  man  in  the  world,  who,  in  common 
sense,  ought  to  be  suspected ;  yet,  without  even  the  pretence 
of  the  smallest  proof  or  probability,  I  am,  of  a  sudden,  the 
first  man  not  only  suspected,  but  certainly  concluded  to  be 
the  publisher;  I  am,  without  further  inquiry  or  explication, 
intentionally  insulted  in  a  public  paper ;  I  am,  from  the 
dearest  friend,  converted  into  a  treacherous  and  malignant 
enemy;  and  all  my  present  and  past  services  are  at  one 
stroke  very  artfully  cancelled.  Were  it  not  ridiculous  to 
employ  reasoning  on  such  a  subject,  and  with  such  a  man, 
I  might  ask  Mr.  Rousseau,  "  Why  I  am  supposed  to  have 
any  malignity  against  him  ? "  My  actions,  in  a  hundred 
instances,  had  sufficiently  demonstrated  the  contrary ;  and 
it  is  not  usual  for  favors  conferred  to  beget  ill  will  in  the 
person  who  confers  them.  But  supposing  I  had  secretly 
entertained  an  animosity  towards  him,  would  I  run  the  risk 
of  a  discovery,  by  so  silly  a  vengeance,  and  by  sending  this 
piece  to  the  press,  when  I  knew,  from  the  usual  avidity  of 
the  news-writers  to  find  articles  of  intelligence,  that  it  must 
necessarily  in  a  few  days  be  laid  hold  of  ? 

But  not  imagining  that  I  was  the  object  of  so  black  and 
ridiculous  a  suspicion,  I  pursued  my  usual  train,  by  serving 
my  friend  in  the  least  doubtful  manner.  I  renewed  my  ap- 
plications to  General  Conway,  as  soon  as  the  state  of  that 
gentleman's  health  permitted  it :  the  General  applies  again  to 
his  Majesty :  his  Majesty's  consent  is  renewed  :  the  Marquis 
of  Rockingham,  first  Commissioner  of  the  Treasury,  is  also 
applied  to :  the  whole  affair  is  happily  finished ;  and  full  of 
joy,  I  conveyed  the  intelligence  to  my  friend.  On  which 
Mr.  Conway  soon  after  received  the  following  letter. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lix 


MR.  ROUSSEAU  TO   GENERAL   CONWAY. 

May  12,  1766. 

Sir,  —  Affected  with  a  most  lively  sense  of  the  favor  his 
Majesty  hath  honored  me  with,  and  with  that  of  your  good- 
ness, which  procured  it  me,  it  affords  me  the  most  pleasing 
sensation  to  reflect,  that  the  best  of  Kings,  and  the  Minister 
most  worthy  of  his  confidence,  are  pleased  to  interest  them- 
selves in  my  fortune.  This,  Sir,  is  an  advantage  of  which 
I  am  justly  tenacious,  and  which  I  will  never  deserve  to  lose. 
But  it  is  necessary  I  should  speak  to  you  with  that  frankness 
you  admire.  After  the  many  misfortunes  that  have  befallen 
me,  I  thought  myself  armed  against  all  possible  events. 
There  have  happened  to  me  some,  however,  which  I  did 
not  foresee,  and  which  indeed  an  ingenuous  mind  ought  not 
to  have  foreseen :  hence  it  is  that  they  affect  me  by  so  much 
the  more  severely.  The  trouble  in  which  they  involve  me, 
indeed,  deprives  me  of  the  ease  and  presence  of  mind  neces- 
sary to  direct  my  conduct :  all  I  can  reasonably  do,  under  so 
distressed  a  situation,  is  to  suspend  my  resolutions  about 
every  affair  of  such  importance  as  is  that  in  agitation.  So 
far  from  refusing  the  beneficence  of  the  King  from  pride,  as 
is  imputed  to  me,  I  am  proud  of  acknowledging  it,  and  am 
only  sorry  I  cannot  do  it  more  publicly.  But  when  I  actually 
receive  it,  I  would  be  able  to  give  up  myself  entirely  to  those 
sentiments  which  it  would  naturally  inspire,  and  to  have  an 
heart  replete  with  gratitude  for  his  Majesty's  goodness  and 
yours.  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  this  manner  of  thinking  will 
make  any  alteration  in  yours  towards  me.  Deign,  therefore, 
Sir,  to  preserve  that  goodness  for  me,  till  a  more  happy 
opportunity,  when  you  will  be  satisfied  that  I  defer  taking 
the  advantage  of  it,  only  to  render  myself  more  worthy  of  it. 


lx  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

I  beg  of  you,   Sir,  to  accept  of  my  most  humble  and  re- 
spectful salutations.  J*  J»  R» 

This  letter  appeared  both  to  General  Conway  and  me 
a  plain  refusal,  as  long  as  the  article  of  secrecy  was  insisted 
on ;  but  as  I  knew  that  Mr.  Rousseau  had  been  acquainted 
with  that  condition  from  the  beginning,  I  was  the  less  sur- 
prised at  his  silence  towards  me.  I  thought  that  my  friend, 
conscious  of  having  treated  me  ill  in  this  affair,  was  ashamed 
to  write  to  me;  and  having  prevailed  on  General  Conway 
to  keep  the  matter  still  open,  I  wrote  a  very  friendly  letter  to 
Mr.  Rousseau,  exhorting  him  to  return  to  his  former  way  of 
thinking,  and  to  accept  of  the  pension. 

As  to  the  deep  distress  which  he  mentions  to  General 
Conway,  and  which,  he  says,  deprives  him  even  of  the  use  of 
his  reason,  I  was  set  very  much  at  ease  on  that  head,  by 
receiving  a  letter  from  Mr.  Davenport,  who  told  me,  that  his 
guest  was  at  that  very  time  extremely  happy,  easy,  cheerful, 
and  even  sociable.  I  saw  plainly,  in  this  event,  the  usual 
infirmity  of  my  friend,  who  wishes  to  interest  the  world  in  his 
favor,  by  passing  for  sickly,  and  persecuted,  and  distressed, 
and  unfortunate,  beyond  all  measure,  even  while  he  is  the 
most  happy  and  contented.  His  pretences  of  an  extreme 
sensibility  had  been  too  frequently  repeated,  to  have  any 
effect  on  a  man  who  was  so  well  acquainted  with  them. 

I  waited  three  weeks  in  vain  for  an  answer:  I  thought 
this  a  little  strange,  and  I  even  wrote  so  to  Mr.  Davenport ; 
but  having  to  do  with  a  very  odd  sort  of  a  man,  and  still 
accounting  for  his  silence  by  supposing  him  ashamed  to  write 
to  me,  I  was  resolved  not  to  be  discouraged,  nor  to  lose  the 
opportunity  of  doing  him  an  essential  service,  on  account  of 
a  vain  ceremonial.  I  accordingly  renewed  my  applications 
to  the  Ministers,  and  was  so  happy  as  to  be  enabled  to  write 


HUME  AND   ROUSSEAU.  lxi 

the  following  letter  to  Mr.  Rousseau,  the  only  one  of  so  old  a 
date  of  which  I  have  a  copy. 


MR.  HUME   TO  MR.  ROUSSEAU. 

Lisle-street,  Leicester-fields,  \§ih  June,  1766. 

As  I  have  not  received  any  answer  from  you,  I  conclude, 
that  you  persevere  in  the  same  resolution  of  refusing  all 
marks  of  his  Majesty's  goodness,  as  long  as  they  must  remain 
a  secret.  I  have  therefore  applied  to  General  Conway  to 
have  this  condition  removed ;  and  I  was  so  fortunate  as  ,to 
obtain  his  promise  that  he  would  speak  to  the  King  for  that 
purpose.  It  will  only  be  requisite,  said  he,  that  we  know 
previously  from  Mr.  Rousseau,  whether  he  would  accept  of 
a  pension  publicly  granted  him,  that  his  Majesty  may  not  be 
exposed  to  a  second  refusal.  He  gave  me  authority  to  write 
to  you  on  that  subject ;  and  I  beg  to  hear  your  resolution  as 
soon  as  possible.  If  you  give  your  consent,  which  I  earnestly 
entreat  you  to  do,  I  know,  that  I  could  depend  on  the  good 
offices  of  the  Duke  of  Richmond,  to  second  General  Con- 
way's application  ;  so  that  I  have  no  doubt  of  success. 
I  am,  my  Dear  Sir, 

Yours,  with  great  sincerity,  D.  H. 

In  five  days  I  received  the  following  answer. 


MR.  ROUSSEAU  TO  MR.  HUME. 

Wooton,  June  2Sd,  1766. 
I  imagined,  Sir,  that  my  silence,  truly  interpreted  by  your 
own  conscience,  had  said  enough ;  but  since  you  have  some 

VOL.  I.  F 


lxii  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

design  in  not  understanding  me,  I  shall  speak.  You  have 
but  ill  disguised  yourself.  I  know  you,  and  you  are  not 
ignorant  of  it.  Before  we  had  any  personal  connections, 
quarrels,  or  disputes;  while  we  knew  each  other  only  by 
literary  reputation,  you  affectionately  made  me  the  offer  of 
the  good  offices  of  yourself  and  friends.  Affected  by  this 
generosity,  I  threw  myself  into  your  arms ;  you  brought  me 
to  England,  apparently  to  procure  me  an  asylum,  but  in  fact 
to  bring  me  to  dishonor.  You  applied  to  this  noble  work 
with  a  zeal  worthy  of  your  heart,  and  a  success  worthy  of 
your  abilities.  You  needed  not  have  taken  so  much  pains : 
you  live  and  converse  with  the  world  ;  I  with  myself  in  soli- 
tude. The  public  love  to  be  deceived,  and  you  were  formed 
to  deceive  them.  I  know  one  man,  however,  whom  you  can- 
not deceive ;  I  mean  myself.  You  know  with  what  horror 
my  heart  rejected  the  first  suspicion  of  your  designs.  You 
know  I  embraced  you  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  and  told  you, 
if  you  were  not  the  best  of  men,  you  must  be  the  blackest 
of  mankind.  In  reflecting  on  your  private  conduct,  you  must 
say  to  yourself  sometimes,  you  are  not  the  best  of  men  :  under 
which  conviction,  I  doubt  much  if  ever  you  will  be  the  hap- 
piest. 

I  leave  your  friends  and  you  to  carry  on  your  schemes  as 
you  please ;  giving  up  to  you,  without  regret,  my  reputation 
during  life  ;  certain  that,  sooner  or  later,  justice  will  be  done 
to  that  of  both.  As  to  your  good  offices  in  matters  of  interest, 
which  you  have  made  use  of  as  a  mask,  I  thank  you  for 
them,  and  shall  dispense  with  profiting  by  them.  I  ought 
not  to  hold  a  correspondence  with  you  any  longer,  or  to 
accept  of  it  to  my  advantage  in  any  affair  in  which  you  are 
to  be  the  mediator.  Adieu,  Sir,  I  wish  you  the  truest  happi- 
ness ;  but  as  we  ought  not  to  have  any  thing  to  say  to  each 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lxiti 

other  for  the  future,  this  is  the  last  letter  you  will  receive 
from  me.  J.  J.  R. 

To  this  I  immediately  sent  the  following  reply. 


MR.  HUME  TO  MR.  ROUSSEAU. 

June  26,  1766. 

As  I  am  conscious  of  having  ever  acted  towards  you  the 
most  friendly  part,  of  having  always  given  the  most  tender, 
the  most  active  proofs  of  sincere  affection  ;  you  may  judge  of 
my  extreme  surprise  on  perusing  your  epistle.  Such  violent 
accusations,  confined  altogether  to  generals,  it  is  as  impossible 
to  answer  as  it  is  impossible  to  comprehend  them.  But 
affairs  cannot,  must  not  remain  on  that  footing.  I  shall 
charitably  suppose,  that  some  infamous  calumniator  has 
belied  me  to  you.  But  in  that  case,  it  is  your  duty,  and  I 
am  persuaded  it  will  be  your  inclination,  to  give  me  an  op- 
portunity of  detecting  him,  and  of  justifying  myself;  which 
can  only  be  done  by  your  mentioning  the  particulars  of  which 
1  am  accused.  You  say,  that  I  myself  know  that  I  have 
been  false  to  you ;  but  I  say  it  loudly,  and  will  say  it  to  the 
whole  world,  that  I  know  the  contrary,  that  I  know  my 
friendship  towards  you  has  been  unbounded  and  uninter- 
rupted, and  that  though  instances  of  it  have  been  very  gene- 
rally remarked  both  in  France  and  England,  the  smallest  part 
of  it  only  has  as  yet  come  to  the  knowledge  of  the  public. 
I  demand,  that  you  will  produce  me  the  man  who  will  assert 
the  contrary ;  and  above  all,  I  demand,  that  he  will  mention 
any  one  particular  in  which  I  have  been  wanting  to  you. 
You  owe  this  to  me ;  you  owe  it  to  yourself ;  you  owe  it  to 


lxiv  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

truth,  and  honor,  and  justice,  and  to  every  thing  that  can  be 
deemed  sacred  among  men.  As  an  innocent  man  ;  I  will  not 
say,  as  your  friend ;  I  will  not  say,  as  your  benefactor ;  but, 
I  repeat  it,  as  an  innocent  man,  I  claim  the  privilege  of 
proving  my  innocence,  and  of  refuting  any  scandalous  lie 
which  may  have  been  invented  against  me.  Mr.  Davenport, 
to  whom  I  have  sent  a  copy  of  your  letter,  and  who  will  read 
this  before  he  delivers  it,  I  am  confident,  will  second  my 
demand,  and  will  tell  you,  that  nothing  possibly  can  be  more 
equitable.  Happily  I  have  preserved  the  letter  you  wrote  me 
after  your  arrival  at  "Wooton ;  and  you  there  express  in  the 
strongest  terms,  indeed  in  terms  too  strong,  your  satisfaction 
in  my  poor  endeavors  to  serve  you :  the  little  epistolary  inter- 
course which  afterwards  passed  between  us,  has  been  all 
employed  on  my  side  to  the  most  friendly  purposes.  Tell 
me,  what  has  since  given  you  offence.  Tell  me  of  what  I  am 
accused.  Tell  me  the  man  who  accuses  me.  Even  after  you 
have  fulfilled  all  these  conditions,  to  my  satisfaction,  and  to 
that  of  Mr.  Davenport,  you  will  have  great  difficulty  to  justify 
the  employing  such  outrageous  terms  towards  a  man,  with 
whom  you  have  been  so  intimately  connected,  and  whom,  on 
many  accounts,  you  ought  to  have  treated  with  some  regard 
and  decency. 

Mr.  Davenport  knows  the  whole  transaction  about  your 
pension,  because  I  thought  it  necessary  that  the  person  who 
had  undertaken  your  settlement,  should  be  fully  acquainted 
with  your  circumstances ;  lest  he  should  be  tempted  to  per- 
form towards  you  concealed  acts  of  generosity,  which,  if  they 
accidentally  came  to  your  knowledge,  might  give  you  some 
grounds  of  offence.     I  am,  Sir,  D.  H. 

Mr.  Davenport's  authority  procured  me,  in  three  weeks,  the 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lxv 

following  enormous  letter;  which  however  has  this  advan- 
tage, that  it  confirms  all  the  material  circumstances  of  the 
foregoing  narrative.  I  have  subjoined  a  few  notes  relative  to 
some  facts  which  Mr.  Rousseau  hath  not  truly  represented, 
and  leave  my  readers  to  judge  which  of  us  deserves  the 
greatest  confidence. 


MR.  ROUSSEAU  TO  MR.  HUME. 

Wooton,  July  10,  1766. 

Sir,  —  I  am  indisposed,  and  little  in  a  situation  to  write; 
but  you  require  an  explanation,  and  it  must  be  given  you  :  it 
was  your  own  fault  you  had  it  not  long  since ;  but  you  did 
not  desire  it,  and  I  was  therefore  silent :  at  present  you  do, 
and  I  have  sent  it.  It  will  be  a  long  one,  for  which  I  am 
very  sorry ;  but  I  have  much  to  say,  and  would  put  an  end  to 
the  subject  at  once. 

As  I  live  retired  from  the  world,  I  am  ignorant  of  what 
passes  in  it.  I  have  no  party,  no  associates,  no  intrigues ; 
I  am  told  nothing,  and  I  know  only  what  I  feel.  But  as  care 
hath  been  taken  to  make  me  severely  feel ;  that  I  well  know. 
The  first  concern  of  those  who  engage  in  bad  designs  is  to 
secure  themselves  from  legal  proofs  of  detection  :  it  would 
not  be  very  advisable  to  seek  a  remedy  against  them  at  law. 
The  innate  conviction  of  the  heart  admits  of  another  kind  of 
proof,  which  influences  the  sentiments  of  honest  men.  You 
well  know  the  basis  of  mine. 

You  ask  me,  with  great  confidence,  to  name  your  accuser. 
That  accuser,  Sir,  is  the  only  man  in  the  world  whose  testi- 
mony I  should  admit  against  you  ;  it  is  yourself.  I  shall  give 
myself  up,  without  fear  or  reserve,  to  the  natural  frankness 

F  * 


lxvi  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

of  my  disposition ;  being  an  enemy  to  every  kind  of  artifice, 
I  shall  speak  with  the  same  freedom  as  if  you  were  an  indif- 
ferent person,  on  whom  I  placed  all  that  confidence  which 
I  no  longer  have  in  you.  I  will  give  you  a  history  of  the 
emotions  of  my  heart,  and  of  what  produced  them;  while 
speaking  of  Mr.  Hume  in  the  third  person,  I  shall  make  your- 
self the  judge  of  what  I  ought  to  think  of  him.  Notwith- 
standing the  length  of  my  letter,  I  shall  pursue  no  other  order 
than  that  of  my  ideas,  beginning  with  the  premises,  and 
ending  with  the  demonstration. 

I  quitted  Switzerland,  wearied  out  by  the  barbarous  treat- 
ment I  had  undergone ;  but  which  affected  only  my  personal 
security,  while  my  honor  was  safe.  I  was  going,  as  my  heart 
directed  me,  to  join  my  Lord  Marshal ;  when  I  received  at 
Strasburg,  a  most  affectionate  invitation  from  Mr.  Hume, 
to  go  over  with  him  to  England,  where  he  promised  me  the 
most  agreeable  reception,  and  more  tranquillity  than  I  have  met 
with.  I  hesitated  some  time  between  my  old  friend  and  my 
new  one  ;  in  this  I  was  wrong.  I  preferred  the  latter,  and  in 
this  was  still  more  so.  But  the  desire  of  visiting  in  person  a 
celebrated  nation,  of  which  I  had  heard  both  so  much  good 
and  so  much  ill,  prevailed.  Assured  I  could  not  lose  George 
Keith,  I  was  nattered  with  the  acquisition  of  David  Hume. 
His  great  merit,  extraordinary  abilities,  and  established  pro- 
bity of  character,  made  me  desirous  of  annexing  his  friend- 
ship to  that  with  which  I  was  honored  by  his  illustrious 
countrymen.  Besides,  I  gloried  not  a  little  in  setting  an 
example  to  men  of  letters,  in  a  sincere  union  between  two 
men  so  different  in  their  principles. 

Before  I  had  received  an  invitation  from  the  King  of 
Prussia,  and  my  Lord  Marshal,  undetermined  about  the 
place   of  my  retreat,  I   had   desired,    and   obtained   by  the 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lxvii 

interest  of  my  friends,  a  passport  from  the  Court  of  France. 
I  made  use  of  this,  and  went  to  Paris  to  join  Mr.  Hume. 
He  saw,  and  perhaps  saw  too  much  of,  the  favorable  recep- 
tion I  met  with  from  a  great  Prince,  and  I  will  venture  to 
say,  of  the  public.  I  yielded,  as  it  was  my  duty,  though 
with  reluctance,  to  that  eclat;  concluding  how  far  it  must 
excite  the  envy  of  my  enemies.  At  the  same  time,  I  saw 
with  pleasure,  the  regard  which  the  public  entertained  for 
Mr.  Hume,  sensibly  increasing  throughout  Paris,  on  account 
of  the  good  work  he  had  undertaken  with  respect  to  me. 
Doubtless  he  was  affected  too ;  but  I  know  not  if  it  was 
in  the  same  manner  as  I  was. 

We  set  out  with  one  of  my  friends,  who  came  to  England 
almost  entirely  on  my  account.  When  we  were  landed  at 
Dover,  transported  with  the  thoughts  of  having  set  foot  in 
this  land  of  liberty,  under  the  conduct  of  so  celebrated  a 
person,  I  threw  my  arms  round  his  neck,  and  pressed  him 
to  my  heart,  without  speaking  a  syllable ;  bathing  his  cheeks, 
as  I  kissed  them,  with  tears  sufficiently  expressive.  This 
was  not  the  only,  nor  the  most  remarkable  instance  I  have 
given  him  of  the  effusions  of  a  heart  full  of  sensibility.  I 
know  not  what  he  does  with  the  recollection  of  them,  when 
that  happens ;  but  I  have  a  notion  they  must  be  sometimes 
troublesome  to  him. 

At  our  arrival  in  London,  we  were  mightily  caressed  and 
entertained:  all  ranks  of  people  eagerly  pressing  to  give  me 
marks  of  their  benevolence  and.  esteem.  Mr.  Hume  presented 
me  politely  to  everybody ;  and  it  was  natural  for  me  to 
ascribe  to  him,  as  I  did,  the  best  part  of  my  good  reception. 
My  heart  was  full  of  him.  I  spoke  in  his  praise  to  every 
one,  I  wrote  to  the  same  purpose  to  all  my  friends ;  my 
attachment  to  him  gathering  every  day  new  strength,  while 


lxviii  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

his  appeared  the  most  affectionate  to  me,  of  which  he  fre- 
quently gave  me  instances  that  touched  me  extremely.  That 
of  causing  my  portrait  to  be  painted,  however,  was  not  of  the 
number.  This  seemed  to  me  to  carry  with  it  too  much  the 
affectation  of  popularity,  and  had  an  air  of  ostentation  which 
by  no  means  pleased  me.  All  this,  however,  might  have 
been  easily  excusable,  had  Mr.  Hume  been  a  man  apt  to 
throw  away  his  money,  or  had  a  gallery  of  pictures  with  the 
portraits  of  his  friends.  After  all,  I  freely  confess,  that,  on 
this  head,  I  may  be  in  the  wrong.* 

But  what  appears  to  me  an  act  of  friendship  and  generosity 
the  most  undoubted  and  estimable,  in  a  word,  the  most  wor- 
thy of  Mr.  Hume,  was  the  care  he  took  to  solicit  for  me,  of 
his  own  accord,  a  pension  from  the  King,  to  which  most 
assuredly  I  had  no  right  to  aspire.  As  I  was  a  witness  to 
the  zeal  he  exerted  in  that  affair,  1  was  greatly  affected  with 
it.  Nothing  could  flatter  me  more  than  a  piece  of  service 
of  that  nature  ;  not  merely  for  the  sake  of  interest ;  for,  too 
much  attached,  perhaps,  to  what  I  actually  possess,  I  am 
not  capable  of  desiring  what  I  have  not,  and,  as  I  am  able 
to  subsist  on  my  labor,  and  the  assistance  of  my  friends, 
I  covet  nothing  more.  But  the  honor  of  receiving  testimonies 
of  the  goodness,  I  will  not  say  of  so  great  a  monarch,  but 
of  so  good  a  father,  so  good  a  husband,  so  good  a  master, 
so  good  a  friend,  and,  above  all,  so  worthy  a  man,  was  sen- 


*  The  fact  was  this.  My  friend,  Mr.  Ramsay,  a  painter  of  eminence,  and  a  man 
of  merit,  proposed  to  draw  Mr.  Rousseau's  picture ;  and  when  he  had  begun  it, 
told  me  he  intended  to  make  me  a  present  of  it.  Thus  the  design  of  having  Mr. 
Rousseau's  picture  drawn  did  not  come  from  me,  nor  did  it  cost  me  any  thing.  Mr. 
Rousseau,  therefore,  is  equally  contemptible  in  paying  me  a  compliment  for  this 
pretended  gallantry,  in  his  letter  of  the  29th  March,  and  in  converting  it  into  ridi- 
cule here. — Mr.  Hlme. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lxix 

sibly  affecting  :  and  when  I  considered  farther,  that  the  min- 
ister who  had  obtained  for  me  this  favor,  was  a  living  in- 
stance of  that  probity  which  of  all  others  is  the  most  important 
to  mankind,  and  at  the  same  time  hardly  ever  met  with  in  the 
only  character  wherein  it  can  be  useful,  I  could  not  check 
the  emotions  of  my  pride,  at  having  for  my  benefactors 
three  men,  who  of  all  the  world  I  could  most  desire  to  have 
my  friends.  Thus,  so  far  from  refusing  the  pension  offered 
me,  I  only  made  one  condition  necessary  for  my  acceptance ; 
this  was  the  consent  of  a  person,  whom  I  could  not,  with- 
out neglecting  my  duty,  fail  to  consult. 

Being  honored  with  the  civilities  of  all  the  world,  I  endea- 
vored to  make  a  proper  return.  In  the  mean  time,  my  bad 
state  of  health,  and  being  accustomed  to  live  in  the  country, 
made  my  residence  in  town  very  disagreeable.  Immediately 
country  houses  presented  themselves  in  plenty ;  I  had  my 
choice  of  all  the  counties  of  England.  Mr.  Hume  took  the 
trouble  to  receive  these  proposals,  and  to  represent  them  to 
me ;  accompanying  me  to  two  or  three  in  the  neighboring 
counties.  I  hesitated  a  good  while  in  my  choice,  and  he 
increased  the  difficulty  of  determination.  At  length  I  fixed 
on  this  place,  and  immediately  Mr.  Hume  settled  the  affair ; 
all  difficulties  vanished,  and  I  departed  ;  arriving  presently  at 
this  solitary,  convenient,  and  agreeable  habitation,  where  the 
owner  of  the  house  provides  every  thing,  and  nothing  is  want- 
ing. I  became  tranquil,  independent ;  and  this  seemed  to  be 
the  wished  for  moment  when  all  my  misfortunes  should  have 
an  end.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  now  they  began  ;  misfor- 
tunes more  cruel  than  any  I  had  yet  experienced. 

Hitherto  I  have  spoken  in  the  fulness  of  my  heart,  and  to 
do  justice,  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  to  the  good  offices  of 
Mr.  Hume.      Would  to  Heaven  that  what  remains  for  me 


1XX  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

to  say  were  of  the  same  nature!  It  would  never  give  me 
pain  to  speak  what  would  redound  to  his  honor ;  nor  is  it 
proper  to  set  a  value  on  benefits  till  one  is  accused  of  ingrat- 
itude, which  is  the  case  at  present.  I  will  venture  to  make 
one  observation,  therefore,  which  renders  it  necessary.  In 
estimating  the  services  of  Mr.  Hume,  by  the  time  and  the 
pains  they  took  him  up,  they  were  of  an  infinite  value,  and 
that  still  more  from  the  good  will  displayed  in  their  per- 
formance; but  for  the  actual  service  they  were  of  to  me, 
it  was  much  more  in  appearance  than  reality.  I  did  not 
come  over  to  beg  my  bread  in  England ;  I  brought  the  means 
of  subsistence  with  me.  I  came  merely  to  seek  an  asylum 
in  a  country  which  is  open  to  every  stranger  without  distinc- 
tion. I  was,  besides,  not  so  totally  unknown  as  that,  if  I 
had  arrived  alone,  I  should  have  wanted  either  assistance 
or  service.  If  some  persons  have  sought  my  acquaintance 
for  the  sake  of  Mr.  Hume,  others  have  sought  it  for  my  own. 
Thus,  when  Mr.  Davenport,  for  example,  was  so  kind  as  to 
offer  my  present  retreat,  it  was  not  for  the  sake  of  Mr.  Hume, 
whom  he  did  not  know,  and  whom  he  saw  only  in  order 
to  desire  him  to  make  me  his  obliging  proposal;  so  that, 
when  Mr.  Hume  endeavors  to  alienate  from  me  this  worthy 
man,  he  takes  that  from  me  which  he  did  not  give  me.*  All 
the  good  that  hath  been  done  me,  would  have  been  done 
me  nearly  the  same  without  him,  and  perhaps  better;  but 
the  evil  would  not  have  been  done  me  at  all ;  for  why  should 
I  have  enemies  in  England?  Why  are  those  enemies  all 
the  friends  of  Mr.   Hume?     Who  could  have  excited  their 


*  Mr.  Rousseau  forms  a  wrong  judgment  of  me,  and  ought  to  know  me  better. 
I  have  written  to  Mr.  Davenport,  even  since  our  rupture,  to  engage  him  to  con- 
tinue his  kindness  to  his  unhappy  guest.  — Mr.  Hume. 


HUME   AND    KOUSSEAU.  lxxi 

enmity  against  me  ?  It  certainly  was  not  I,  who  knew 
nothing  of  them,  nor  ever  saw  them  in  my  life.  I  should 
not  have  had  a  single  enemy  had  I  come  to  England  alone.* 

I  have  hitherto  dwelt  upon  public  and  notorious  facts, 
which,  from  their  own  nature,  and  my  acknowledgment, 
have  made  the  greatest  eclat.  Those  which  are  to  follow 
are  particular  and  secret,  at  least  in  their  cause;  and  all 
possible  measures  have  been  taken  to  keep  the  knowledge 
of  them  from  the  public ;  but  as  they  are  well  known  to  the 
person  interested,  they  will  not  have  the  less  influence  toward 
his  own  conviction. 

A  very  short  time  after  our  arrival  in  London,  I  observed  an 
absurd  change  in  the  minds  of  the  people  regarding  me,  which 
soon  became  very  apparent.  Before  I  arrived  in  England, 
there  was  not  a  nation  in  Europe  in  which  I  had  a  greater 
reputation,  I  will  venture  to  say,  or  was  held  in  greater  esti- 
mation. The  public  papers  were  full  of  encomiums  on  me, 
and  a  general  outcry  prevailed  bn  my  persecutors.!     This  was 

*  How  strange  are  the  effects  of  a  disordered  imagination !  Mr.  Rousseau 
tells  us  he  is  ignorant  of  what  passes  in  the  world,  and  yet  talks  of  the  enemies 
he  has  in  England.  How  does  he  know  this1?  Where  did  he  see  them?  He 
hath  received  nothing  but  marks  of  beneficence  and  hospitality.  Mr.  Walpole  is 
the  only  person  who  hath  thrown  out  a  little  piece  of  raillery  against  him ;  but  is 
not  therefore  his  enemy.  If  Mr.  Eousseau  could  have  seen  things  exactly  as  they 
are,  he  would  have  seen  that  he  had  no  other  friend  in  England  but  me,  and  no 
other  enemy  but  himself.  —  Mr.  Hume. 

t  That  a  general  outcry  should  prevail  against  Mr.  Rousseau's  persecutors  in 
England,  is  no  wonder.  Such  an  outcry  would  have  prevailed  from  sentiments 
of  humanity,  had  he  been  a  person  of  much  less  note ;  so  that  this  is  no  proof 
of  his  being  esteemed.  And  as  to  the  encomiums  on  him  inserted  in  the  public 
newspapers,  the  value  of  such  kind  of  puffs  is  well  known  in  England.  I  have 
already  observed,  that  the  authors  of  more  respectable  works  were  at  no  loss  what 
to  think  of  Mr.  Rousseau,  but  had  formed  a  proper  judgment  of  him  long  before 
his  arrival  in  England.     The  genius  which  displayed  itself  in  his  writings  did  by 


lxxii  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

the  case  at  my  arrival,  which  was  published  in  the  newspapers 
with  triumph ;  England  prided  itself  in  affording  me  refuge, 
and  justly  gloried  on  that  occasion  in  its  laws  and  govern- 
ment ;  when  all  of  a  sudden,  without  the  least  assignable 
cause,  the  tone  was  changed,  and  that  so  speedily  and  totally, 
that,  of  all  the  caprices  of  the  public,  never  was  known  any 
thing  more  surprising.  The  signal  was  given  in  a  certain 
Magazine,  equally  full  of  follies  and  falsehoods,  in  which  the 
author,  being  well  informed,  or  pretending  to  be  so,  gives  me 
out  for  the  son  of  a  musician.  From  this  time*  I  was  con- 
stantly spoken  of  in  print  in  a  very  equivocal  or  slighting 
manner-!  Every  thing  that  had  been  published  concerning 
my  misfortunes  was  misrepresented,  altered,  or  placed  in  a 
wrong  light,  and  always  as  much  as  possible  to  my  disad- 
vantage. So  far  was  anybody  from  speaking  of  the  recep- 
tion I  met  with  at  Paris,  and  which  had  made  but  too  much 
noise,  it  was  not  generally  supposed  that  I  durst  have  ap- 


no  means  blind  the  eyes  of  the  more  sensible  part  of  mankind  to  the  absurdity  and 
inconsistency  of  his  opinions  and  conduct.  In  exclaiming  against  Mr.  Rousseau's 
fanatical  persecutors,  they  did  not  think  him  the  more  possessed  of  the  true  spirit 
of  martyrdom.  The  general  opinion  indeed  was,  that  he  had  too  much  philosophy 
to  be  very  devout,  and  had  too  much  devotion  to  have  much  philosophy.  — English 
Translator. 

*  Mr.  Rousseau  knows  very  little  of  the  public  judgment  in  England,  if  he 
thinks  it  is  to  be  influenced  by  any  story  told  in  a  certain  Magazine.  But,  as  I 
have  before  said,  it  was  not  from  this  time  that  Mr.  Rousseau  was  slightingly 
Spoke  of,  but  long  before,  and  that  in  a  more  consequential  manner.  -Perhaps, 
indeed,  Mr.  Rousseau  ought  in  justice  to]  impute  great  part  of  those  civilities  he 
met  with  on  his  arrival,  rather  to  vanity  and  curiosity  than  to  respect  and  esteem.  — 
English  Translator. 

t  So  then  I  find  I  am  to  answer  for  every  article  of  every  Magazine  and  news- 
paper printed  in  England.  I  assure  Mr.  Rousseau  I  would  rather  answer  for 
every  robbery  committed  [on  the  highway ;  and  I  am  entirely  as  innocent  of  the 
one  as  the  other.  —  Mr.  Hume. 


HUME   AND   ROUSSEAU.  lxxiii 

peared  in  that  city,  even  one  of  Mr.   Hume's  friends  being- 
very  much  surprised  when  I  told  him  I  came  through  it. 

Accustomed  as  I  had  been  too  much  to  the  inconstancy  of 
the  public,  to  be  affected  by  this  instance  of  it,  I  could  not 
help  being  astonished,  however,  at  a  change,  so  very  sudden 
and  general,  that  not  one  of  those  who  had  so  much  praised 
me  in  my  absence,  appeared,  now  I  was  present,  to  think 
even  of  my  existence.  I  thought  it  something  very  odd  that, 
immediately  after  the  return  of  Mr.  Hume,  who  had  so  much 
credit  in  London,  with  so  much  influence  over  the  book- 
sellers and  men  of  letters,  and  such  great  connections  with 
them,  his  presence  should  produce  an  effect  so  contrary  to 
what  might  have  been  expected ;  that  among  so  many 
writers  of  every  kind,  not  one  of  his  friends  should  show 
himself  to  be  mine  ;  while  it  was  easy  to  be  seen,  that  those 
who  spoke  of  him  were  not  his  enemies,  since,  in  noticing 
his  public  character,  they  reported  that  I  had  come  through 
France  under  his  protection,  and  by  favor  of  a  passport 
which  he  had  obtained  of  the  court ;  nay,  they  almost  went 
so  far  as  to  insinuate,  that  I  came  over  in  his  retinue,  and 
at  his  expense.  All  this  was  of  little  signification,  and  was 
only  singular;  but  what  was  much  more  so,  was,  that  his 
friends  changed  their  tone  with  me  as  much  as  the  public. 
I  shall  always  take  a  pleasure  in  saying  that  they  were 
still  equally  solicitous  to  serve  me,  and  that  they  exerted 
themselves  greatly  in  my  favor ;  but  so  far  were  they  from 
showing  me  the  same  respect,  particularly  the  gentleman 
at  whose  house  we  alighted  on  our  arrival,  that  he  accom- . 
panied  all  his  actions  with  discourse  so  rude,  and  some- 
times so  insulting,  that  one  would  have  thought  he  had 
taken   an   occasion   to    oblige   me,   merely   to   have   a  right 

VOL.  I.  G 


lxxiv  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

to  express  his  contempt*  His  brother,  who  was  at  first 
very  polite  and  obliging,  altered  his  behavior  with  so  little 
reserve,  that  he  would  hardly  deign  to  speak  a  single  word 
to  me,  even  in  their  own  house,  in  return  to  a  civil  salu- 
tation, or  to  pay  any  of  those  civilities  which  are  usually 
paid  in  like  circumstances  to  strangers.  Nothing  new  had 
happened,  however,  except  the  arrival  of  J.  J.  Rousseau 
and  David  Hume  :  and  certainly  the  cause  of  these  alter- 
ations did  not  come  from  me,  unless,  indeed,  too  great  a  por- 
tion of  simplicity,  discretion,  and  modesty,  be  the  cause 
of  offence  in  England.  As  to  Mr.  Hume,  he  was  so  far 
from  assuming  such  a  disgusting  tone,  that  he  gave  into  the 
other  extreme.  I  have  always  looked  upon  flatterers  with  an 
eye  of  suspicion :  and  he  was  so  full  of  all  kinds  f  of  flattery, 
that  he  even  obliged  me,  when  I  could  bear  it  no  longer,  J  to 
tell  him  my  sentiments  on  that  head.  His  behavior  was 
such   as  to  render  few  words   necessary,  yet  I   could   have 


*  This  relates  to  my  friend  Mr.  John  Stewart,  who  entertained  Mr.  Ronsseau 
at  his  house,  and  did  him  all  the  good  offices  in  his  power.  Mr.  Rousseau,  in  com- 
plaining of  this  gentleman's  behavior,  forgets  that  he  wrote  Mr.  Stewart  a  letter 
from  Wooton,  full  of  acknowledgments,  and  just  expressions  of  gratitude.  What 
Mr.  Rousseau  adds  regarding  the  brother  of  Mr.  Stewart,  is  neither  civil  nor  true. 
—  Mr.  Hume. 

t  I  shall  mention  only  one,  that  made  me  smile ;  this  was  his  attention  to  have, 
every  time  I  came  to  see  him,  a  volume  of  Eloisa  upon  his  table ;  as  if  I  did  not 
know  enough  of  Mr.  Hume's  taste  for  reading,  as  to  be  well  assured,  that  of  all 
books  in  the  world,  Eloisa  must  be  one  of  the  most  tiresome  to  him.  —  Mk. 
Rousseau. 

%  The  reader  may  judge  from  the  two  first  letters  of  Mr.  Rousseau,  which  I  pub- 
lished with  that  view,  on  which  side  the  flatteries  commenced.  As  for  the  rest  I 
loved  and  esteemed  Mr.  Rousseau,  and  took  a  pleasure  in  giving  him  to  under- 
stand so.  I  might  perhaps  be  too  lavish  in  my  praises ;  but  I  can  assure  the  reader 
he  never  once  complained  of  it.  —  Mr.  Hume. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lxXV 

wished  he  had  substituted,  in  the  room  of  such  gross  encomi- 
ums, sometimes  the  language  of  a  friend ;  but  I  never  found 
any  thing  in  his,  which  savored  of  true  friendship,  not  even  in 
his  manner  of  speaking  of  me  to  others  in  my  presence.  One 
would  have  thought  that,  in  endeavoring  to  procure  me 
patrons,  he  strove  to  deprive  me  of  their  good  will ;  that  he 
sought  rather  to  have  me  assisted  than  loved ;  and  I  have 
been  sometimes  surprised  at  the  rude  turn  he  hath  given  to 
my  behavior  before  people  who  might  not  unreasonably  have 
taken  offence  at  it  I  shall  give  an  example  of  what  I  mean. 
Mr.  Pennick  of  the  Museum,  a  friend  of  my  Lord  Marshal's, 
and  minister  of  a  parish  where  I  was  solicited  to  reside,  came 
to  see  me.  Mr.  Hume  made  my  excuses,  while  I  myself  was 
present,  for  not  having  paid  him  a  visit.  Doctor  Matty,  said 
he,  invited  us  on  Thursday  to  the  Museum,  where  Mr.  Rous- 
seau should  have  seen  you ;  but  he  chose  rather  to  go  with 
Mrs.  Garrick  to  the  play :  we  could  not  do  both  the  same 
day.*  You  will  confess,  Sir,  this  was  a  strange  method  of 
recommending  me  to  Mr.  Pennick. 

I  know  not  what  Mr.  Hume  might  say  in  private  of  me  to 
his  acquaintance,  but  nothing  was  more  extraordinary  than 
their  behavior  to  me,  even  by  his  own  confession,  and  even 
often  through  his .  own  means.  Although  my  purse  was  not 
empty,  and  I  needed  not  that  of  any  other  person,  which  he 
very  well  knew,  yet  any  one  would  have  thought  I  was  come 
over  to  subsist  on  the  charity  of  the  public,  and  that  nothing 
more  was  to  be  done  than  to  give  me  alms  in  such  a  manner 


*  I  don't  recollect  a  single  circumstance  of  this  history ;  hut  what  makes  me  give 
very  little  credit  to  it,  is,  that  I  remember  very  well  we  had  settled  two  different 
days  for  the  purposes  mentioned,  that  is,  one  to  go  to  the  Museum,  and  another  to 
the  play.  —  Mr.  Hume. 


lxxvi  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

as  to  save  me  a  little  confusion.*  I  must  own,  this  constant 
and  insolent  piece  of  affectation  was  one  of  those  things 
which  made  me  averse  to  reside  in  London.  This  certainly 
was  not  the  footing  on  which  any  man  should  have  been 
introduced  in  England,  had  there  been  a  design  of  procuring 
him  ever  so  little  respect.  This  display  of  charity,  however, 
may  admit  of  a  more  favorable  interpretation,  and  I  consent 
it  should.     To  proceed. 

At  Paris  was  published  a  fictitious  letter  from  the  King  of 
Prussia,  addressed  to  me,  and  replete  with  the  most  cruel 
malignity.  I  learned  with  surprise  that  it  was  one  Mr.  Wal- 
pole,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Hume's  who  was  the  editor ;  I  asked 
him  if  it  were  true;  in  answer  to  which  question,  he  only 
asked  me,  of  whom  I  had  the  information.  A  moment  before 
he  had  given  me  a  card  for  this  same  Mr.  Walpole,  written 
to  engage  him  to  bring  over  such  papers  as  related  to  me 
from  Paris,  and  which  I  wanted  to  have  by  a  safe  hand. 

I  was  informed  that  the  son  of  that  quack  f  Tronchin, 
my  most  mortal  enemy,  was  not  only  the  friend  of  Mr. 
Hume,  and  under  his  protection,  but  that  they  both  lodged  in 
the  same  house  together ;  and  when  Mr.  Hume  found  that  I 
knew  it,  he  imparted  it  in  confidence;  assuring  me  at  the 
same  time  that  the  son  was  by  no  means  like  the  father.  I 
lodged  a  few  nights  myself,  together  with  my  governante,  in 


*  I  conceive  Mr.  Rousseau  hints  here  at  two  or  three  dinners,  that  were  sent 
him  from  the  house  of  Mr.  Stewart,  when  he  chose  to  dine  at  his  own  lodgings ; 
this  was  not  done,  however,  to  save  him  the  expense  of  a  meal,  but  because  there 
was  no  convenient  tavern  or  chop-house  in  the  neighborhood.  I  beg  the  reader's 
pardon  for  descending  to  such  trivial  particulars.  — Mr.  Hume. 

t  We  have  not  been  authorized  to  suppress  this  affronting  term ;  but  it  is  too 
gross  and  groundless  to  do  any  injury  to  the  celebrated  and  respectable  physician 
to  whose  name  it  is  annexed.  —  French  Editors. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lxxvii 

the  same  house ;  and  by  the  air  and  manner  with  which  we 
were  received  by  the  landladies,  who  are  his  friends,  I  judged 
in  what  manner  either  Mr.  Hume,  or  that  man,  who,  as  he 
said,  was  by  no  means  like  his  father,  must  have  spoken  to 
them  both  of  her  and  me.* 

All  these  facts  put  together,  added  to  a  certain  appearance 
of  things  on  the  whole,  insensibly  gave  me  an  uneasiness 
which  I  rejected  with  horror.  In  the  mean  time,  I  found  the 
letters  I  wrote  did  not  come  to  hand ;  those  I  received  had 
often  been  opened ;  and  all  went  through  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Hume,  f  If  at  any  time  any  one  escaped  him,  he  could  not 
conceal  his  eagerness  to  see  it.     One  evening,  in  particular,  I 

'  *  Thus  am  I  accused  of  treachery,  because  I  am  a  friend  of  Mr.  Walpole,  who 
hath  thrown  out  a  little  raillery  on  Mr.  Rousseau,  and  because  the  son  of  a  man 
whom  Mr.  Rousseau  does  not  like  lodges  by  accident  in  the  same  house ;  because 
my  landladies,  who  do  not  understand  a  syllable  of  French,  received  Mr.  Rousseau 
coldly.  As  to  the  rest,  all  that  I  said  to  Mr.  Rousseau  about  the  young  Tronchin 
was,  that  he  had  not  the  same  prejudices  against  him  as  his  father.  —  Mr.  Hume. 

t  The  story  of  Mr.  Rousseau's  letters  is  as  follows.  He  had  often  been  com- 
plaining to  me,  and  with  reason,  that  he  was  ruined  by  postage  at  Neuf-chatel, 
which  commonly  cost  him  about  twenty-five  or  twenty-six  louis  d'ors  a  year,  and 
all  for  letters  which  were  of  no  significance,  being  wrote,  some  of  them  by  people 
who  took  that  opportunity  of  abusing  him,  and  most  of  them  by  persons  unknown 
to  him.  He  was  therefore  resolved,  he  said,  in  England  to  receive  no  letters 
which  came  by  the  post ;  and  the  same  resolution  he  reiterates  in  his  letter  to  me 
dated  the  22d  of  March.  When  he  went  to  Chiswick,  near  London,  the  postman 
brought  his  letters  to  me.  I  carried  him  out  a  cargo  of  them.  He  exclaimed, 
desired  me  to  return  the  letters,  and  recover  the  price  of  postage.  I  told  him  that, 
in  that  case,  the  clerks  of  the  Post  Office  were  entire  masters  of  his  letters.  He 
said  he  was  indifferent :  they  might  do  with  them  what  they  pleased.  I  added, 
that  he  would  by  that  means  be  cut  off  from  all  correspondence  with  all  his  friends. 
He  replied,  that  he  would  give  a  particular  direction  to  such  as  he  desired  to 
correspond  with.  But  till  his  instructions  for  that  purpose  could  arrive,  what 
could  I  do  more  friendly  than  to  save,  at  my  own  expense,  his  letters  from  the 
curiosity  and  indiscretion  of  the  clerks  of  the  Post  Office  I  I  am  indeed  ashamed 
to  find  myself  obliged  to  discover  such  petty  circumstances.  — Mr.  Hl*3ie. 

G* 


lxxviii  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

remember  a  very  remarkable  circumstance  of  this  kind  that 
greatly  struck  me.*  As  we  were  sitting  one  evening,  after 
supper,  silent  by  the  fire-side,  I  caught  his  eyes  intently  fixed 
on  mine,  as  indeed  happened  very  often ;  and  that  in  a  man- 
ner of  which  it  is  very  difficult  to  give  an  idea.  At  that  time 
he  gave  me  a  steadfast,  piercing  look,  mixed  with  a  sneer, 
which  greatly  disturbed  me.  To  get  rid  of  the  embarrass- 
ment I  lay  under,  I  endeavored  to  look  full  at  him  in  my  turn ; 
but,  in  fixing  my  eyes  against  his,  I  felt  the  most  inexpressi- 
ble terror,  and  was  obliged  soon  to  turn  them  away.  The 
speech  and  physiognomy  of  the  good  David  is  that  of  an  hon- 
est man ;  but  where,  great  God !  did  this  good  man  borrow 
those  eyes  he  fixes  so  sternly  and  unaccountably  on  those  of 
his  friends  ? 


*  It  is  necessary  to  explain  this  circumstance.  I  had  been  writing  on  Mr. 
Hume's  table,  during  his  absence,  an  answer  to  a  letter  I  had  just  received.  He 
came  in,  very  anxious  to  know  what  I  had  been  writing,  and  hardly  able  to  con- 
tain himself  from  desiring  to  read  it.  I  closed  my  letter,  however,  without  show- 
ing it  him ;  when,  as  I  was  putting  it  into  my  pocket,  he  asked  me  for  it  eagerly, 
saying  he  would  send  it  away  on  the  morrow,  being  post-day.  The  letter  lay  on 
the  table.  Lord  Newnham  came  in.  Mr.  Hume  went  out  of  the  room  for  a  mo- 
ment, on  which  I  took  the  letter  up  again,  saying  I  should  find  time  to  send  it  the 
next  day.  Lord  Newnham  offered  to  get  it  inclosed  in  the  French  ambassador's 
packet,  which  I  accepted.  Mr.  Hume  reentered  the  moment  his  Lordship  had 
inclosed  it,  and  was  pulling  out  his  seal.  Mr.  Hume  officiously  offered  his  own 
seal,  and  that  with  so  much  earnestness,  that  it  could  not  well  be  refused.  The 
bell  was  rung,  and  Lord  Newnham  gave  the  letter  to  Mr.  Hume's  servant,  to  give 
it  to  his  own,  who  waited  below  with  the  chariot,  in  order  to  have  it  sent  to  the 
ambassador.  Mr.  Hume's  servant  was  hardly  got  out  of  the  room,  but  I  said  to 
myself,  I  '11  lay  a  wager  the  master  follows.  He  did  not  fail  to  do  as  I  expected. 
Not  knowing  how  to  leave  Lord  Newnham  alone,  I  stayed  some  time  before 
I  followed  Mr.  Hume.  I  said  nothing ;  but  he  must  perceive  that  I  was  uneasy. 
Thus,  although  I  have  received  no  answer  to  my  letter,  I  doubt  not  of  its  going  to 
hand;  but  I  confess,  I  cannot  help  suspecting  it  was  read  first.  —  Mr.  Rousseau. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lxxix 

The  impression  of  this  look  remained  with  me,  and  gave 
me  much  uneasiness.  My  trouble  increased  even  to  a  degree 
of  fainting ;  and  if  I  had  not  been  relieved  by  an  effusion  of 
tears,  I  had  been  suffocated.  Presently  after  this  I  was 
seized  with  the  most  violent  remorse;  I  even  despised  my- 
self ;  till  at  length,  in  a  transport  which  I  still  remember  with 
delight,  I  sprang  on  his  neck,  embraced  him  eagerly ;  while 
almost  choked  with  sobbing,  and  bathed  in  tears,  I  cried  out, 
in  broken  accents,  No,  no,  David  Hume  cannot  be  treacherous. 
If  he  be  not  the  best  of  men,  he  must  be  the  basest  of  mankind. 
David  Hume  politely  returned  my  embraces,  and,  gently,  tap- 
ping me  on  the  back,  repeated  several  times,  in  a  good- 
natured  and  easy  tone,  Why,  what,  my  dear  Sir !  Nay,  my 
dear  Sir  !  Oh,  my  dear  Sir  !  He  said  nothing  more.  I  felt 
my  heart  yearn  within  me.  We  went  to  bed ;  and  I  set  out 
the  next  day  for  the  country. 

Arrived  at  this  agreeable  asylum,  to  which  I  have  travelled 
so  far  in  search  of  repose,  I  ought  to  find  it  in  a  retired,  con- 
venient, and  pleasant  habitation ;  the  master  of  which,  a  man 
of  understanding  and  worth,  spares  for  nothing  to  render  it 
agreeable  to  me.  But  what  repose  can  be  tasted  in  life, 
when  the  heart  is  agitated  ?  Afflicted  with  the  most  cruel 
uncertainty,  and  ignorant  what  to  think  of  a  man  whom  I 
ought  to  love  and  esteem,  I  endeavored  to  get  rid  of  that 
fatal  doubt,  in  placing  confidence  in  my  benefactor.  For, 
wherefore,  from  what  unaccountable  caprice  should  he  dis- 
play so  much  apparent  zeal  for  my  happiness,  and  at  the  same 
time  entertain  secret  designs  against  my  honor.  Among  the 
several  observations  that  disturbed  me,  each  fact  was  in  itself 
of  no  great  moment ;  it  was  their  concurrence  that  was  sur- 
prising; yet  I  thought,  perhaps,  that  Mr.  Hume,  informed  of 
other  facts,  of  which  I  was  ignorant,  could  have  given  me  a 


1XXX  CONTROVERSY    BETWEEN 

satisfactory  solution  of  them,  had  we  come  to  an  explanation. 
The  only  thing  that  was  inexplicable,  was,  that  he  refused  to 
come  to  such  an  explanation ;  which  both  his  honor  and  his 
friendship  rendered  equally  necessary.  I  saw  very  well  there 
was  something  in  the  affair  which  I  did  not  comprehend,  and 
which  I  earnestly  wished  to  know.  Before  I  came  to  an 
absolute  determination,  therefore,  with  regard  to  him,  I  was 
desirous  of  making  another  effort,  and  to  try  to  recover  him,  if 
he  had  permitted  himself  to  be  seduced  by  my  enemies,  or,  in 
short  to  prevail  on  him  to  explain  himself  one  way  or  other. 
Accordingly  I  wrote  him  a  letter,  which  he  ought  to  have 
found  very  natural,*  if  he  were  guilty ;  but  very  extraordinary, 
if  he  were  innocent.  For  what  could  be  more  extraordinary 
than  a  letter  full  of  gratitude  for  his  services,  and  at  the  same 
time  of  distrust  of  his  sentiments ;  and  in  which,  placing  in  a 
manner  his  actions  on  one  side,  and  his  sentiments  on  the 
other,  instead  of  speaking  of  the  proofs  of  friendship  he 
had  given  me,  I  desired  him  to  love  me,  for  the  good  he  had 
done  me !  f  I  did  not  take  the  precaution  to  preserve  a  copy 
of  this  letter ;  but  as  he  hath  done  it,  let  him  produce  it :  and 
whoever  shall  read  it,  and  see  therein  a  man  laboring  under 
a  secret  trouble,  which  he  is  desirous  of  expressing,  and  is 
afraid  to  do  it,  will,  I  am  persuaded,  be  curious  to  know  what 
kind  of  eclaircissement  it  produced,  especially  after  the  pre- 
ceding scene.  None.  Absolutely  none  at  all.  Mr.  Hume 
contented  himself,  in  his  answer,  with  only  speaking  of  the 
obliging  offices  Mr.  Davenport  proposed  to  do  for  me.     As 


*  It  appears  from  what  he  wrote  to  me  afterwards,  that  he  was  very  well  satis- 
fied with  this  letter,  and  that  he  thought  of  it  very  well.  —  Mr.  Rousseau. 

t  My  answer  to  this  is  contained  in  Mr.  Rousseau's  own  letter  of  the  22d  of 
March ;  wherein  he  expresses  himself  with  the  utmost  cordiality,  without  any 
reserve,  and  without  the  least  appearance  of  suspicion.  —  Mb.  Hume. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lxxxi 

/ 

for  the  rest,  he  said  not  a  word  of  the  principal  subject  of 
my  letter,  nor  of  the  situation  of  my  heart,  of  whose  distress 
he  could  not  be  ignorant.  I  was  more  struck  with  this 
silence,  than  I  had  been  with  his  phlegm  during  our  last  con- 
versation. In  this  I  was  wrong ;  this  silence  was  very  natu- 
ral after  the  other,  and  was  no  more  than  I  ought  to  have 
expected.  For  when  one  hath  ventured  to  declare  to  a  man's 
face,  I  am  tempted  to  believe  you  a  traitor,  and  he  hath  not  the 
curiosity  to  ask  you  for  what,  *  it  may  be  depended  on  he  will 
never  have  any  such  curiosity  as  long  as  he  lives ;  and  it  is 
easy  to  judge  of  him  from  these  slight  indications. 

After  the  receipt  of  his  letter,  which  was  long  delayed,  I 
determined  at  length  to  write  to  him  no  more.  Soon  after, 
every  thing  served  to  confirm  me  in  the  resolution  to  break  off 
all  farther  correspondence  with  him.  Curious  to  the  last 
degree  concerning  the  minutest  circumstance  of  my  affairs,  he 
was  not  content  to  learn  them  of  me,  in  our  frequent  conver- 
sations ;  but,  as  I  learned,  never  let  slip  an  opportunity  of 
being  alone  with  my  governante,  f  to  interrogate  her  even 
importunately  concerning  my  occupations,  my  resources,  my 
friends,  acquaintances,  their  names,  situations,  place  of  abode, 
and  all  this  after  setting  out  with  telling  her  he  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  whole  of  my  connections ;  nay,  with  the 
most  Jesuitical  address,  he  would  ask  the  same  questions  of  us 
separately.  One  ought  undoubtedly  to  interest  one's  self  in 
the  affairs  of  a  friend ;  but  one  ought  to  be  satisfied  with 
what  he  thinks  proper  to  let  us  know  of  them,  particularly 

*  All  this  hangs  upon  the  fable  he  had  so  artfully  worked  up,  as  I  before  ob- 
served. —  Mr.  Hume. 

t  I  had  only  one  such  opportunity  with  his  governante,  which  was  on  their 
arrival  in  London.  I  must  own  it  never  entered  into  my  head  to  talk  to  her 
upon  any  other  subject  than  the  concerns  of  Mr.  Rousseau.  —  Mr.  Hume. 


lxxxii  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

when  people  are  so  frank  and  ingenuous  as  I  am.  Indeed  all 
this  petty  inquisitiveness  is  very  little  becoming  a  philosopher. 

About  the  same  time  I  received  two  other  letters  which 
had  been  opened.  The  one  from  Mr.  Boswell,  the  seal  of 
which  was  so  loose  and  disfigured,  that  Mr.  Davenport,  when 
he  received  it,  remarked  the  same  to  Mr.  Hume's  servant. 
The  other  was  from  Mr.  d'lvernois,  in  Mr.  Hume's  packet, 
and  which  had  been  sealed  up  again  by  means  of  a  hot  iron, 
which,  awkwardly  applied,  had  burnt  the  paper  round  the 
impression.  On  this  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Davenport  to  desire  him 
to  take  charge  of  all  the  letters  which  might  be  sent  for  me, 
and  to  trust  none  of  them  in  anybody's  hands,  under  any  pre- 
text whatever.  I  know  not  whether  Mr.  Davenport,  who  cer- 
tainly was  far  from  thinking  that  precaution  was  to  be 
observed  with  regard  to  Mr.  Hume,  showed  him  my  letter  or 
not ;  but  this  I  know,  that  the  latter  had  all  the  reason  in  the 
world  to  think  that  he  had  forfeited  my  confidence,  and  that 
he  proceeded  nevertheless  in  his  usual  manner,  without 
troubling  himself  about  the  recovery  of  it. 

But  what  was  to  become  of  me,  when  I  saw,  in  the  public 
papers,  the  pretended  letter  of  the  King  of  Prussia  which  I 
had  never  before  seen,  that  fictitious  letter,  printed  in  French 
and  English,  given  for  the  genuine,  even  with  the  signature 
of  the  King,  and  in  which  I  knew  the  pen  of  Mr.  d'Alembert 
as  certainly  as  if  I  had  seen  him  write  it  ?  * 

In  a  moment  a  ray  of  light  discovered  to  me  the  secret 
cause  of  that  touching  and  sudden  change,  which  I  had 
observed  in  the  public  respecting  me;  and  I  saw  the  plot 
which  was  put  in  execution  at  London,  had  been  laid  in 
Paris. 

*  See  Mr.  d'Alembert's  declaration  on  this  head,  annexed  to  this  narrative. 


HUME  AND    ROUSSEAU.  lxxxiii 

Mr.  d'  Alembert,  another  intimate  friend  of  Mr.  Hume's,  had 
been  long  since  my  secret  enemy,  and  lay  in  watch  for  oppor- 
tunities to  injure  me  without  exposing  himself.  He  was  the 
only  person,  among  the  men  of  letters,  of  my  old  acquain- 
tance, who  did  not  come  to  see  me,  *  or  send  their  civilities 
during  my  last  passage  through  Paris.  I  knew  his  secret  dis- 
position, but  I  gave  myself  very  little  trouble  about  it,  con- 
tenting myself  with  advising  my  friends  of  it  occasionally.  I 
remember  that  being  asked  about  him  one  day  by  Mr.  Hume, 
who  afterwards  asked  my  governante  the  same  question,  I 
told  him  that  Mr.  d' Alembert  was  a  cunning,  artful  man.  He 
contradicted  me  with  a  warmth  that  surprised  me  ;  not  then 
knowing  they  stood  so  well  with  each  other,  and  that  it  was 
his  own  cause  he  defended. 

The  perusal  of  the  letter  above  mentioned  alarmed  me  a 
good  deal,  when,  perceiving  that  I  had  been  brought  over  to 
England  in  consequence  of  a  project  which  began  to  be  put 
in  execution,  but  of  the  end  of  which  I  was  ignorant,  I  felt 
the  danger  without  knowing  what  to  guard  against,  or  on 
whom  to  rely.  I  then  recollected  four  terrifying  words  Mr. 
Hume  had  made  use  of,  and  of  which  I  shall  speak  hereafter. 
What  could  be  thought  of  a  paper  in  which  my  misfortunes 
were  imputed  to  me  as  a  crime,  which  tended,  in  the  midst  of 
my  distress,  to  deprive  me  of  all  compassion,  and,  to  render 
its  effects  still  more  cruel,  pretended  to  have  been  written 
by  a  Prince  who  had  afforded  me  protection  ?  What  could 
I  divine  would  be  the  consequence  of  such  a  beginning? 
The  people  in  England  read  the  public  papers,  and  are  in  no- 
wise  prepossessed  in  favor  of  foreigners.     Even  a  coat  cut 

*  Mr.  Rousseau  declares  himself  to  have  been  fatigued  with  the  visits  he  re- 
ceived ;  ought  he  therefore  to  complain  that  Mr.  d' Alembert,  whom  he  did  not 
like,  did  not  importune  him  with  his  1  —  Mr.  Hume. 


lxxxiv  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

in  a  different  fashion  from  their  own,  is  sufficient  to  excite  a 
prejudice  against  them.  What  then  had  not  a  poor  stranger  to 
expect  in  his  rural  walks,  the  only  pleasures  of  life,  when  the 
good  people  in  the  neighborhood  were  once  thoroughly  per- 
suaded he  was  fond  of  being  persecuted  and  pelted  ?  Doubt- 
less they  would  be  ready  enough  to  contribute  to  his  favorite 
amusement.  But  my  concern,  my  profound  and  cruel  con- 
cern, the  bitterest  indeed  I  ever  felt,  did  not  arise  from  the 
danger  to  which  I  was  personally  exposed.  I  have  braved 
too  many  others  to  be  much  moved  with  that.  The  treachery 
of  a  false  friend,*  to  which  I  had  fallen  a  prey,  was  the  cir- 
cumstance that  filled  my  too  susceptible  heart  with  deadly 
sorrow.  In  the  impetuosity  of  its  first  emotions,  of  which  I 
never  yet  was  master,  and  of  which  my  enemies  have  artfully 
taken  the  advantage,  I  wrote  several  letters  full  of  disorder,  in 
which  I  did  not  disguise  either  my  anxiety  or  indignation. 

I  have,  Sir,  so  many  things  to  mention,  that  I  forget  half  of 
them  by  the  way.  For  instance,  a  certain  narrative  in  form 
of  a  letter,  concerning  my  manner  of  living  at  Montmorency, 
was  given  by  the  booksellers  to  Mr.  Hume,  who  showed  it 
me.  I  agreed  to  its  being  printed,  and  Mr.  Hume  undertook 
the  care  of  its  edition ;  but  it  never  appeared.  Again,  I  had 
brought  over  with  me  a  copy  of  the  letters  of  Mr.  du  Peyron, 
containing  a  relation  of  the  treatment  I  had  met  with  at 
Neuf-chatel.  I  gave  them  into  the  hands  of  the  same  book- 
seller to  have  them  translated  and  reprinted.  Mr.  Hume 
charged    himself   with   the   care   of  them;    but  they   never 

*  This  false  friend  is,  undoubtedly,  myself.  But  what  is  the  treachery  ?  What 
harm  have  I  done,  or  could  I  do  to  Mr.  Rousseau  ?  On  the  supposition  of  my 
entering  into  a  project  to  ruin  him,  how  could  I  think  to  bring  it  about  by  the 
services  I  did  him  ?  If  Mr.  Rousseau  should  gain  credit,  I  must  be  thought  still 
more  weak  than  wicked.  —  Mr.  Hume. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lxXXV 

appeared.*  The  supposititious  letter  of  the  King  of  Prussia, 
and  its  translation,  had  no  sooner  made  their  appearance, 
than  I  immediately  apprehended  why  the  other  pieces  had 
been  suppressed,!  and  I  wrote  as  much  to  the  booksellers.^    I 


*  The  booksellers  have  lately  informed  me  that  the  edition  is  finished,  and  will 
hortly  be  published.     This  may  be ;  but  it  is  too  late,  and  what  is  still  worse,  it 

is  too  opportune  for  the  purpose  intended  to  be  served.  —  Mr.  Rousseau. 

t  It  is  about  four  months  since  Mr.  Becket,  the  bookseller,  told  Mr.  Rousseau 
that  the  publication  of  these  pieces  was  delayed  on  account  of  the  indisposition  of 
the  translator.  As  for  any  thing  else,  I  never  promised  to  take  any  charge  at  all 
of  the  edition,  as  Mr.  Becket  can  testify.  —  Mr.  Hume. 

X  As  to  Mr.  Rousseau's  suspicions  of  the  cause  of  the  suppression,  as  he  calls  it,  of 
the  Narrative  and  Letters  above  mentioned,  the  translator  thinks  it  incumbent  on 
him  to  affirm,  that  they  were  entirely  groundless.  It  is  true,  as  Mr.  Becket  told 
Mr.  Hume,  that  the  translator  of  the  letters  was  indisposed  about  that  time.  But  the 
principal  cause  of  the  delay  was,  that  he  was  of  his  own  mere  motion,  no  less  indis- 
posed to  those  pieces  making  their  appearance  in  English  at  all ;  *  and  this  not  out  of 
ill-will  to  Mr.  Rousseau,  or  good-will  to  Mr.  Hume,  neither  of  which  he  ever  saw,  or 
spoke  to,  in  his  life ;  but  really  out  of  regard  to  the  character  and  reputation  of  a  man, 
whose  genius  he  admired,  and  whose  works  he  had  translated :  well  knowing  the  pub- 
lication of  such  squabbles  could  do  Mr.  Rousseau  no  good  in  the  opinion  of  the 
more  judicious  and  sensible  part  of  mankind.  With  regard  to  the  translation  of 
the  narrative  of  his  manner  of  living  at  Montmorency,  I  never  saw  it  till  it  was 
actually  printed,  when  Mr.  Becket  put  it  into  my  hands,  and  I  frankly  told  him 
that  I  thought  it  a  very  unseasonable,  puerile  affair,  and  could  by  no  means  serve 
to  advance  Mr.  Rousseau's  estimation  in  the  eyes  of  the  public.  It  was  certainly 
of  great  importance  to  the  good  people  of  England,  to  know  how  Mr.  Rousseau 
amused  himself  seven  or  eight  years  ago  at~Montmorency,  that  he  cooked  his  own 
broth,  and  did  not  leave  it  to  the  management  of  his  nurse,  for  fear  she  should  have 
a  better  dinner  than  himself!  Yet  this  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  circum- 
stances contained  in  that  narrative,  except  indeed  that  we  are  told,  Mr.  Rousseau 
is  a  most  passionate  admirer  of  virtue,  and  that  his  eyes  always  sparkle  at  the  bare 
mention  of  that  word.  —  0  Virtue !  how  greatly  is  thy  name  prostituted !  And 
how  fair,  from  the  teeth  outward,  are  thy  nominal  votaries  ! — English  Translator. 

*  For,  so  far  were  the  booksellers  from  intending  to  suppress  these  pieces,  that  they 
actually  reprinted  the  French  edition  of  Peyrou's  Letters,  and  published  it  in  London. 

VOL.  I.  H 


lxXXvi  CONTROVERSY    BETWEEN 

wrote  several  other  letters  also,  which  probably  were  handed 
about  London ;  till  at  length  I  employed  the  credit  of  a  man 
of  quality  and  merit,  to  insert  a  declaration  of  the  imposture 
in  the  public  papers.  In  this  declaration,  I  concealed  no 
part  of  my  extreme  concern,  nor  did  I  in  the  least  disguise 
the  cause. 

Hitherto  Mr.  Hume  seems  to  have  walked  in  darkness. 
You  will  soon  see  him  appear  in  open  day,  and  act  with- 
out disguise.  Nothing  more  is  necessary,  in  our  behavior 
towards  cunning  people,  than  to  act  ingenuously;  sooner 
or  later  they  will  infallibly  betray  themselves. 

When  this  pretended  letter  from  the  King  of  Prussia  was 
first  published  in  London,  Mr.  Hume,  who  certainly  knew 
that  it  was  fictitious,  as  I  had  told  him  so,  yet  said  nothing 
of  the  matter,  did  not  write  to  me,  but  was  totally  silent ; 
and  did  not  even  think  of  making  any  declaration  of  the 
truth,  in  favor  of  his  absent  friend.*  It  answered  his  purpose 
better  to  let  the  report  take  its  course,  as  he  did. 

Mr.  Hume  having  been  my  conductor  into  England,  he 
was  of  course  in  a  manner  my  patron  and  protector.  If  it 
were  but  natural  in  him  to  undertake  my  defence,  it  was  no 
less  so  that,  when  I  had  a  public  protestation  to  make,  I 
should  have  addressed  myself  to  him.  Having  already  ceased 
writing  to  him,f  however,  I  had  no  mind  to  renew  our  corre- 
spondence. I  addressed  myself  therefore  to  another  person. 
The  first  slap  on  the  face  I  gave  my  patron.  He  felt  nothing 
of  it. 

In  saying  the  letter  was  fabricated  at  Paris,  it  was  of  very 

*  Nobody  could  possibly  be  mistaken  with  regard  to  the  letter's  being  fictitious ; 
besides  it  was  well  known  that  Mr.  Walpole  was  the  author  of  it.  —  Mr.  Hume. 

t  Mr.  Rousseau  forgets  himself  here.  It  was  but  a  week  before  that  he  wrote 
me  a  very  friendly  letter.     See  his  letter  of  the  29th  of  March.  —  Mr.  Hume. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lxxxvii 

little  consequence  to  me  whether  it  was  understood  partic- 
ularly of  Mr.  d'Alembert,  or  of  Mr.  Walpole,  whose  name  he 
borrowed  on  the  occasion.  But  in  adding  that,  what  afflicted 
and  tore  my  heart  was,  the  impostor  had  got  his  accomplices 
in  England ;  I  expressed  myself  very  clearly  to  their  friend, 
who  was  in  London,  and  was  desirous  of  passing  for  mine. 
For  certainly  he  was  the,  only  person  in  England,  whose 
hatred  could  afflict  and  rend  my  heart.  This  was  the  second 
slap  of  the  face  I  gave  my  patron.  He  did  not  feel,  however, 
yet. 

On  the  contrary,  he  maliciously  pretended  that  my  affliction 
arose  solely  from  the  publication  of  the  above  letter,  in  order 
to  make  me  pass  for  a  man  who  was  excessively  affected  by 
satire.  Whether  I  am  vain  or  not,  certain  it  is  I  was  mor- 
tally afflicted;  he  knew  it,  and  yet  wrote  me  not  a  word. 
This  affectionate  friend,  who  had  so  much  at  heart  the  filling 
of  my  purse,  gave  himself  no  trouble  to  think  my  heart  was 
bleeding  with  sorrow. 

Another  piece  appeared  soon  after,  in  the  same  papers,  by 
the  author  of  the  former,  and  still  if  possible  more  cruel,  in 
which  the  writer  could  not  disguise  his  rage  at  the  reception  I 
met  with  at  Paris.*  This  however  did  not  affect  me ;  it  told 
me  nothing  new.  Mere  libels  may  take  their  course  without 
giving  me  any  emotion ;  and  the  inconstant  public  may 
amuse  themselves  as  long  as  they  please  with  the  subject.  It 
is  not  an  affair  of  conspirators,  who,  bent  on  the  destruction 
of  my  honest  fame,  are  determined  by  some  means  or  other 
to  effect  it.     It  was  necessary  to  change  the  battery. 

The  affair  of  the  pension  was  not  determined.  It  was  not 
difficult,  however,  for  Mr.  Hume  to  obtain,  from  the  humanity 

*  I  know  nothing  of  this  pretended  libel.  —  Mr.  Husie. 


lxXXviii  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

of  the  minister,  and  the  generosity  of  the  King,  the  favor  of  its 
determination.  He  was  required  to  inform  me  of  it,  which  he 
did.  This,  I  must  confess,  was  one  of  the  critical  moments 
of  my  life.  How  much  did  it  cost  me  to  do  my  duty !  My 
preceding  engagements,  the  necessity  of  showing  a  due 
respect  for  the  goodness  of  the  King,  and  for  that  of  his  min- 
ister, together  with  the  desire  of  displaying  how  far  I  was  sen- 
sible of  both ;  add  to  these  the  advantage  of  being  made  a 
little  more  easy  in  circumstances  in  the  decline  of  life,  sur- 
rounded as  I  was  by  enemies  and  evils ;  in  fine,  the  embarrass- 
ment I  was  under  to  find  a  decent  excuse  for  not  accepting  a 
benefit  already  half  accepted;  all  these  together  made  the 
necessity  of  that  refusal  very  difficult  and  cruel :  for  necessary 
it  was,  or  I  should  have  been  one  of  the  meanest  and  basest 
of  mankind  to  have  voluntarily  laid  myself  under  an  obliga- 
t  on  to  a  man  who  had  betrayed  me. 

I  did  my  duty,  though  not  without  reluctance.  I  wrote 
immediately  to  General  Conway,  and  in  the  most  civil  and 
respectful  manner  possible,  without  giving  an  absolute  re- 
fusal, excusing  myself  from  accepting  the  pension  for  the 
present. 

Now,  Mr.  Hume  had  been  the  only  negotiator  of  this  affair, 
nay  the  only  person  who  had  spoke  of  it.  Yet  I  not  only 
did  not  give  him  any  answer,  though  it  was  he  who  wrote 
to  me  on  the  subject,  but  did  not  even  so  much  as  mention 
him  in  my  letter  to  General  Conway.  This  was  the  third 
slap  of  the  face  I  gave  my  patron,  which  if  he  does  not  feel, 
it  is  certainly  his  own  fault,  he  can  feel  nothing. 

My  letter  was  not  clear,  nor  could  it  be  so  to  General 
Conway,  who  did  not  know  the  motives  of  my  refusal ;  but 
it  was  very  plain  to  Mr.  Hume,  who  knew  them  but  too 
well.      He    pretended   nevertheless   to   be   deceived    as  wel* 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  lxxxix 

with  regard  to  the  cause  of  my  discontent,  as  to  that  of  my 
declining  the  pension ;  and,  in  a  letter  he  wrote  me  on  the 
occasion,  gave  me  to  understand  that  the  King's  goodness 
might  be  continued  towards  me,  if  I  should  reconsider  the 
affair  of  the  pension.  In  a  word,  he  seemed  determined, 
at  all  events,  to  remain  still  my  patron,  in  spite  of  my  teeth. 
You  will  imagine,  Sir,  he  did  not  expect  my  answer;  and 
he  had  none.  Much  about  this  time,  for  I  do  not  know 
exactly  the  date,  nor  is  such  precision  necessary,  appeared 
a  letter  from  Mr.  de  Voltaire  to  me,  with  an  English  transla- 
tion, which  still  improved  on  the  original.  The  noble  object 
of  this  ingenious  performance,  was  to  draw  on  me  the  hatred 
and  contempt  of  the  people,  among  whom  I  was  come  to 
reside.  I  made  not  the  least  doubt  that  my  dear  patron 
was  one  of  the  instruments  of  its  publication ;  particularly 
when  I  saw  that  the  writer,  in  endeavoring  to  alienate  from 
me  those  who  might  render  my  life  agreeable,  had  omitted 
the  name  of  him  who  brought  me  over.  He  doubtless  knew 
that  it  was  superfluous,  and  that  with  regard  to  him,  nothing 
more  was  necessary  to  be  said.  The  omission  of  his  name, 
so  impoliticly  forgot  in  this  letter,  recalled  to  my  mind 
what  Tacitus  says  of  the  picture  of  Brutus,  omitted  in  a 
funeral  solemnity,  viz.,  that  everybody  took  notice  of  it, 
particularly  because  it  was  not  there. 

Mr.  Hume  was  not  mentioned ;  but  he  lives  and  converses 
with  people  that  are  mentioned.  It  is  well  known  his  friends 
are  all  my  enemies ;  there  are  abroad  such  people  as  Tronchin, 
d'Alembert,  and  Voltaire  ;*  but  it  is  much  worse  in   London; 

*  I  have  never  been  so  happy  as  to  meet  with  Mr.  de  Voltaire ;  he  only  did  me 
the  honor  to  write  me  a  letter  about  three  years  ago.  As  to  Mr.  Tronchin,  I  never 
saw  him  in  my  life,  nor  ever  had  any  correspondence  with  him.  Of  Mr.  d'Alem- 
bert's  friendship,  indeed,  I  am  proud  to  make  a  boast.  —  Mr.  Hume. 

H* 


XC  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

for  here  I  have  no  enemies  but  what  are  his  friends.  For 
why,  indeed,  should  I  have  any  other  ?  Why  should  I  have 
even  them  ?  *  What  have  I  done  to  Lord  Littleton,!  whom 
I  don't  even  know?  What  have  I  done  to  Mr.  Walpole, 
whom  I  know  full  as  little  ?  What  do  they  know  of  me, 
except  that  I  am  unhappy,  and  a  friend  to  their  friend  Hume  ? 
What  can  he  have  said  to  them,  for  it  is  only  through  him 
they  know  any  thing  of  me  ?  I  can  very  well  imagine,  that, 
considering  the  part  he  has  to  play,  he  does  not  unmask 
himself  to  everybody;  for  then  he  would  be  disguised  to 
nobody.  I  can  very  well  imagine  that  he  does  not  speak 
of  me  to  General  Conway  and  the  Duke  of  Richmond  as 
he  does  in  his  private  conversations  with  Mr.  Walpole,  and 
his  secret  correspondence  with  Mr^  d'Alembert.  But  let 
any  one  discover  the  clue  that  hath  been  unravelled  since 
my  arrival  in  London,  and  it  will  easily  be  seen  whether  Mr. 
Hume  does  not  hold  the  principal  thread. 


*  Why  indeed  1  except  that  sensible  people  in  England  are  averse  to  affectation 
and  quackery.  Those  who  see  and  despise  these  most  in  Mr.  Rousseau,  are  not, 
however,  his  enemies ;  perhaps  if  he  could  be  brought  to  think  so,  they  are  his  best 
and  truest  friends.  —  English  Translator. 

t  Mr.  Rousseau,  seeing  the  letter  addressed  to  him  in  the  name  of  Voltaire 
advertised  in  the  public  papers,  wrote  to  Mr.  Davenport,  who  was  then  in  London, 
to  desire  he  would  bring  it  him.  I  told  Mr.  Davenport  that  the  printed  copy  was 
very  faulty,  but  that  I  would  ask  of  Lord  Littleton  a  manuscript  copy,  which  was 
correct.  This  is  sufficient  to  make  Mr.  Rousseau  conclude  that  Lord  Littleton  is 
his  mortal  enemy,  and  my  intimate  friend ;  and  that  we  are  in  a  conspiracy  against 
him.  He  ought  rather  to  have  concluded,  that  the  printed  copy  could  not  come 
from  me.  —  Mr.  Hume. 

The  piece  above  mentioned  was  shown  to  the  Translator  before  its  publication, 
and  many  absurd  liberties  taken  with  the  original  pointed  out  and  censured.  At 
•which  time  there  did  not  appear,  from  the  parties  concerned  in  it,  that  Mr.  Hume 
could  have  the  least  hand  in,  or  could  have  known  any  thing  of  the  edition.  —  Eng- 
lish Translator. 


\ 

HUME  AND    ROUSSEAU.  Xci 


At  length  the  moment  arrived  in  which  it  was  thought 
proper  to  strike  the  great  blow,  the  effect  of  which  was  pre- 
pared for  by  a  fresh  satirical  piece  put  in  the  papers.*  Had 
there  remained  in  me  the  least  doubt,  it  would  have  been 
impossible  to  have  harbored  it  after  perusing  this  piece, 
as  it  contained  facts  unknown  to  anybody  but  Mr.  Hume ; 
exaggerated,  it  is  true,  in  order  to  render  them  odious  to  the 
public. 

It  is  said  in  this  paper  that  my  door  was  opened  to  the 
rich,  and  shut  to  the  poor.  Pray,  who  knows  when  my 
door  was  open  or  shut,  except  Mr.  Hume,  with  whom  I 
lived,  and  by  whom  everybody  was  introduced  that  I  saw  ? 
I  will  except  one  great  personage,  whom  I  gladly  received 
without  knowing  him,  and  whom  I  should  still  have  more 
gladly  received  if  I  had  known  him.  It  was  Mr.  Hume 
who  told  me  his  name  when  he  was  gone ;  on  which  infor- 
mation, I  was  really  chagrined,  that,  as  he  deigned  to  mount 
up  two  pair  of  stairs,  he  was  not  received  in  the  first  floor. 
As  to  the  poor,  I  have  nothing  to  say  about  the  matter.  I 
was  constantly  desirous  of  seeing  less  company ;  but  as  I 
was  unwilling  to  displease  any  one,  I  suffered  myself  to  be 
directed  in  this  affair  altogether  by  Mr.  Hume,  and  endea- 
vored to  receive  everybody  he  introduced  as  well  as  I 
could,  without  distinction,  whether  rich  or  poor.  It  is  said 
in  the  same  piece  that  I  received  my  relations  very  coldly, 
not  to  say  any  tiling  worse.  This  general  charge  relates  to 
my  having  once  received,  with  some  indifference,  the  only 

*  I  have  never  seen  this  piece,  neither  before  nor  after  its  publication ;  nor  has 
it  come  to  the  knowledge  of  anybody  to  whom  I  have  spoken  of  it.  —  Me.  Hume. 

The  Translator,  who  has  been  attentive  to  every  thing  that  has  come  out  from,  or 
about  Mr.  R6usseau,  knows  also  nothing  of  tfiis  piece.  Why  did  not  Mr.  Rousseau 
mention  particularly  in  what  paper,  and  when  it  appeared  !  —  English  Translator. 


XC11  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

relation  I  have,  out  of  Geneva,  and  that  in  the  presence  of 
Mr.  Hume.*  It  must  necessarily  be  either  Mr.  Hume  or 
this  relation  who  furnished  that  piece  of  intelligence.  Now, 
my  cousin,  whom  I  have  always  known  for  a  friendly  re- 
lation and  a  worthy  man,  is  incapable  of  furnishing  materials 
for  public  satires  against  me.  Add  to  this,  that  his  situation 
in  life  confining  him  to  the  conversation  of  persons  in  trade, 
he  has  no  connection  with  men  of  letters  or  paragraph 
writers,  and  still  less  with  satirists  and  libellers;  so  that 
the  article  could  not  come  from  him.  At  the  worst,  can 
I  help  imagining  that  Mr.  Hume  must  have  endeavored 
to  take  advantage  of  what  he  said,  and  construed  it  in  favor 
of  his  own  purpose  ?  It  is  not  improper  to  add,  that,  after  my 
rupture  with  Mr.  Hume,  I  wrote  an  account  of  it  to  my 
cousin. 

In  fine,  it  is  said  in  the  same  paper  that  I  am  apt  to  change 
my  friends.  No  great  subtlety  is  necessary  to  comprehend 
what  this  reflection  is  preparative  to. 

But  let  us  distinguish  facts.  I  have  preserved  some  very 
valuable  and  solid  friends  for  twenty-five  to  thirty  years. 
I  have  others  whose  friendship  is  of  a  later  date,  but  no  less 
valuable,  and  which,  if  I  live,  I  may  preserve  still  longer. 
I  have  not  found,  indeed,  the  same  security  in  general  among 
those  friendships  I  have  made  with  men  of  letters.  I  have 
for  this  reason  sometimes  changed  them,  and  shall  always 
change  them  when  they  appear  suspicious;  for  I  am  deter- 
mined never  to  have  friends  by  way  of  ceremony;  I  have 
them  only  with  a  view  to  show  them  my  affection. 

If  ever  I  was  fully  and  clearly  convinced  of  any  thing,  I  am 

*  I  was  not  present  when  Mr.  Rousseau  received  his  cousin.  I  only  just  saw 
them  afterwards  together  for  about  a  minute  on  the  terrace  in  Buckingham  Street. 
—  Mr.  Hume. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  XC111 

so  convinced  that  Mr.  Hume  furnished  the  materials  for  the 
above  paper. 

But  what  is  still  more,  I  have  not  only  that  absolute  con- 
viction, but  it  is  very  clear  to  me  that  Mr.  Hume  intended 
I  should:  For  how  can  it  be  supposed  that  a  man  of  his 
subtlety  should  be  so  imprudent  as  to  expose  himself  thus,  if 
he  had  not  intended  it  ?  What  was  his  design  in  it  ?  No- 
thing is  more  clear  than  this.  It  was  to  raise  my  resentment 
to  the  highest  pitch,  that  he  might  strike  the  blow  he  Was 
preparing  to  give  me  with  greater  eclat.  He  knew  he  had 
nothing  more  to  do  than  put  me  in  a  passion,  and  I  should 
be  guilty  of  a  number  of  absurdities.  We  are  now  arrived 
at  the  critical  moment  which  is  to  show  whether  he  reasoned 
well  or  ill. 

It  is  necessary  to  have  all  the  presence  of  mind,  all  the 
phlegm  and  resolution  of  Mr.  Hume,  to  be  able  to  take  the 
part  he  hath  taken,  after  all  that  has  passed  between  us.  In 
the  embarrassment  I  was  under  in  writing  to  General  Con- 
way, I  could  make  use  only  of  obscure  expressions,  to  which 
Mr.  Hume,  in  quality  of  my  friend,  gave  what  interpretation 
he  pleased.  Supposing,  therefore,  for  he  knew  very  well  to 
the  contrary,  that  it  was  the  circumstance  of  secrecy  which 
gave  me  uneasiness,  he  obtained  the  promise  of  the  General 
to  endeavor  to  remove  it;  but  before  any  thing  was  done,  it 
was  previously  necessary  to  know  whether  I  would  accept  of 
the  pension  without  that  condition,  in  order  not  to  expose  his 
Majesty  to  a  second  refusal. 

This  was  the  decisive  moment,  the  end  and  object  of  all 
his  labors.  An  answer  was  required  :  he  would  have  it.  To 
prevent  effectually  indeed  my  neglect  of  it,  he  sent  to  Mr. 
Davenport  a  duplicate  of  his  letter  to  me;  and,  not  content 
with  this  precaution,  wrote  me  word,  in  another  billet,  that  he 


XC1V  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

could  not  possibly  stay  any  longer  in  London  to  serve  me. 
I  was  giddy  with  amazement  on  reading  this  note.  Never  in 
my  life  did  I  meet  with  any  thing  so  unaccountable. 

At  length  he  obtained  from  me  the  so  much  desired  an- 
swer, and  began  presently  to  triumph.  In  writing  to  Mr. 
Davenport,  he  treated  me  as  a  monster  of  brutality  and 
ingratitude.  But  he  wanted  to  do  still  more.  He  thinks 
his  measures  well  taken ;  no  proof  can  be  made  to  appear 
against  him.  He  demands  an  explanation  :  he  shall  have  it, 
and  here  it  is. 

That  last  stroke  was  a  masterpiece.  He  himself  proves 
every  thing,  and  that  beyond  reply. 

I  will  suppose,  though  by  way  of  impossibility,  that  my 
complaints  against  Mr.  Hume  never  reached  his  ears ;  that 
that  he  knew  nothing  of  them ;  but  was  as  perfectly  ignorant 
as  if  he  had  held  no  cabal  with  those  who  are  acquainted 
with  them,  but  had  resided  all  the  while  in  China*  Yet  the 
behavior  passing  directly  between  us  ;  the  last  striking  words 
which  I  said  to  him  in  London ;  the  letter  which  followed 
replete  with  fears  and  anxiety;  my  persevering  silence  still 
more  expressive  than  words  ;  my  public  and  bitter  complaints 
with  regard  to  the  letter  of  Mr.  d'Alembert ;  my  letter  to  the 
Secretary  of  State,  who  did  not  write  to  me,  in  answer  to 
that  which  Mr.  Hume  wrote  to  me  himself,  and  in  which  I 
did  not  mention  him ;  and  in  fine  my  refusal,  without  deign- 
ing to  address  myself  to  him,  to  acquiesce  in  an  affair  which 
he  had  managed  in  my  favor,  with  my  own  privity,  and 
without   any   opposition   on   my   part;    all  this   must  have 


*  How  was  it  possible  for  me  to  guess  at  such  chimerical  suspicions  ?  Mr. 
Davenport,  the  only  person  of  my  acquaintance  who  then  saw  Mr.  Rousseau, 
assures  me  that  he  was  perfectly  ignorant  of  them  himself.  —  Mr.  Hume. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  XCV 

spoken  in  a  very  forcible  manner,  I  will  not  say  to  any  person 
of  the  least  sensibility,  but  to  every  man  of  common  sense. 

Strange  that,  after  I  had  ceased  to  correspond  with  him  for 
three  months,  when  I  had  made  no  answer  to  any  one  of  his 
letters,  however  important  the  subject  of  it,  surrounded  with 
both  public  and  private  marks  of  that  affliction  which  his 
infidelity  gave  me ;  a  man  of  so  enlightened  an  understand- 
ing, of  so  penetrating  a  genius  by  nature,  and  so  dull  by 
design,  should  see  nothing,  hear  nothing,  feel  nothing,  be 
moved  at  nothing ;  but,  without  one  word  of  complaint,  justi- 
fication, or  explanation,  continue  to  give  me  the  most  pressing 
marks  of  his  good- will  to  serve  me,  in  spite  of  myself?  He 
wrote  to  me  affectionately,  that  he  could  not  stay  any  longer 
in  London  to  do  me  service,  as  if  we  had  agreed  that  he 
should  stay  there  for  that  purpose !  This  blindness,  this 
insensibility,  this  perseverance,  are  not  in  nature ;  they  must 
be  accounted  for,  therefore,  from  other  motives.  Let  us  set 
this  behavior  in  a  still  clearer  light ;  for  this  is  the  decisive 
point. 

Mr.  Hume  must  necessarily  have  acted  in  this  affair,  either 
as  one  of  the  first  or  last  of  mankind.  There  is  no  medium. 
It  remains  to  determine  which  of  the  two  it  hath  been. 

Could  Mr.  Hume,  after  so  many  instances  of  disdain  on 
my  part,  have  still  the  astonishing  generosity  as  to  persevere 
sincerely  to  serve  me  ?  He  knew  it  was  impossible  for  me  to 
accept  his  good  offices,  so  long  as  I  entertained  for  him  such 
sentiments  as  I  had  conceived.  He  had  himself  avoided  an 
explanation.  So  that  to  serve  me  without  justifying  himself, 
would  have  been  to  render  his  services  useless ;  this  therefore 
was  no  generosity.  If  he  supposed  that  in  such  circum- 
stances I  should  have  accepted  his  services,  he  must  have 
supposed  me  to  have  been  an  infamous  scoundrel.     It  was 


XCvi  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

then  in  behalf  of  a  man  whom  he  supposed  to  be  a  scoundrel, 
that  he  so  warmly  solicited  a  pension  from  his  Majesty.  Can 
any  thing  be  supposed  more  extravagant  ? 

But  let  it  be  supposed  that  Mr.  Hume,  constantly  pursuing 
his  plan,  should  only  have  said  to  himself,  This  is  the  moment 
for  its  execution;  for,  by  pressing  Rousseau  to  accept  the 
pension,  he  will  be  reduced  either  to  accept  or  refuse  it.  If 
he  accepts  it,  with  the  proofs  I  have  in  hand  against  him, 
I  shall  be  able  completely  to  disgrace  him  :  if  he  refuses,  after 
having  accepted  it,  he  will  have  no  pretext,  but  must  give 
a  reason  for  such  refusal.  This  is  what  I  expect;  if  he 
accuses  me,  he  is  ruined. 

If,  I  say,  Mr.  Hume  reasoned  with  himself  in  this  manner, 
he  did  what  was  consistent  with  his  plan,  and  in  that  case 
very  natural ;  indeed  this  is  the  only  way  in  which  his  con- 
duct in  this  affair  can  be  explained,  for  upon  any  other  suppo- 
sition it  is  inexplicable :  if  this  be  not  demonstrable,  nothing 
ever  was  so.  The  critical  situation  to  which  he  had  now 
reduced  me,  recalled  strongly  to  my  mind  the  four  words 
I  mentioned  above ;  and  which  I  heard  him  say  and  repeat, 
at  a  time  when  I  did  not  comprehend  their  full  force.  It  was 
the  first  night  after  our  departure  from  Paris.  We  slept  in 
the  same  chamber,  when,  during  the  night,  I  heard  him 
several  times  cry  out  with  great  vehemence,  in  the  French 
language,  Je  tiens  J.  J.  Rousseau.  "  I  have  you,  Rousseau." 
I  know  not  whether  he  was  awake  or  asleep.* 

The  expression  was  remarkable,  coming  from  a  man  who  is 

*  I  cannot  answer  for  every  thing  I  may  say  in  my  sleep,  and  much  less  am  I 
conscious  whether  or  not  I  dream  in  French.  But  pray,  as  Mr.  Rousseau  did  not 
know  whether  I  was  asleep  or  awake  when  I  pronounced  those  terrible  words,  with 
such  a  terrible  voice,  how  is  he  certain  that  he  himself  was  well  awake  when  he 
heard  them  1 —  Mr.  Hume. 


HUME   AND  ROUSSEAU.  XCV11 

too  well  acquainted  with  the  French  language,  to  be  mis- 
taken with  regard  to  the  force  or  choice  of  words.  I  took 
these  words,  however,  and  I  could  not  then  take  them  other- 
wise than  in  a  favorable  sense :  notwithstanding  the  tone  of 
voice  in  which  they  were  spoken,  was  still  less  favorable  than 
the  expression.  It  is  indeed  impossible  for  me  to  give  any 
idea  of  it ;  but  it  corresponds  exactly  with  those  terrible  looks 
I  have  before  mentioned.  At  every  repetition  of  them  I  was 
seized  with  a  shuddering,  a  kind  of  horror  I  could  not  resist, 
though  a  moment's  recollection  restored  me,  and  made  me 
smile  at  my  terror.  The  next  day  all  this  was  so  perfectly 
obliterated,  that  I  did  not  even  ^think  of  it  during  my  stay  in 
London,  and  its  neighborhood.  It  was  not  till  my  arrival  in 
this  place,  that  so  many  things  have  contributed  to  recall 
these  words  to  my  mind ;  and  indeed  recall  them  every 
moment. 

These  words,  the  tone  of  which  dwells  on  my  heart,  as  if 
I  had  but  just  heard  them ;  those  long  and  fatal  looks  so 
frequently  cast  on  me ;  the  patting  me  on  the  back,  with  the 
repetition  of  O,  my  dear  Sir,  in  answer  to  my  suspicions  of 
his  being  a  traitor :  all  this  affects  me  to  such  a  degree,  after 
what  preceded,  that  this  recollection,  had  I  no  other,  would 
be  sufficient  to  prevent  any  reconciliation  or  return  of  confi- 
dence between  us ;  not  a  night  indeed  passes  over  my  head, 
but  I  think  I  hear,  Rousseau,  I  have  you,  ring  in  my  ears  as  if 
he  had  just  pronounced  them. 

Yes,  Mr.  Hume,  I  know  you  have  me  ;  but  that  only  by 
mere  externals ;  you  have  me  in  the  public  ppinion  and  judg- 
ment of  mankind.  You  have  my  reputation,  and  perhaps  my 
security,  to  do  with  as  you  will.  The  general  prepossession 
is  in  your  favor ;  it  will  be  very  easy  for  you  to  make  me  pass 
for   the   monster  you   have  begun  to  represent  me ;    and   J 

VOL.  i.  I 


XCV111  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

already  see  the  barbarous  exultation  of  my  implacable  ene- 
mies. The  public  will  no  longer  spare  me.  Without  any 
further  examination,  everybody  is  on  the  side  of  those  who 
have  conferred  favors ;  because  each  is  desirous  to  attract  the 
same  good  offices,  by  displaying  a  sensibility  of  the  obliga- 
tion. I  foresee  readily  the  consequences  of  all  this,  particu- 
larly in  the  country  to  which  you  have  conducted  me  ;  and 
where,  being  without  friends,  and  an  utter  stranger  to  every- 
body, I  lie  almost  entirely  at  your  mercy.  The  sensible  part 
of  mankind,  however,  will  comprehend  that  I  must  be  so  far 
from  seeking  this  affair,  that  nothing  more  disagreeable  or 
terrible  could  possibly  have  happened  to  me  in  my  present 
situation.  They  will  perceive  that  nothing  but  my  invincible 
aversion  to  all  kinds  of  falsehood,  and  the  possibility  of  my 
professing  a  regard  for  a  person  who  had  forfeited  it,  could 
have  prevented  my  dissimulation,  at  a  time  when  it  was  on 
so  many  accounts  my  interest.  But  the  sensible  part  of  man- 
kind are  few,  nor  do  they  make  the  greatest  noise  in  the 
world. 

Yes,  Mr.  Hume,  you  have  me  by  all  the  ties  of  this  life ; 
but  you  have  no  power  over  my  probity  or  my  fortitude, 
which,  being  independent  either  of  you  or  of  mankind,  I  will 
preserve  in  spite  of  you.  Think  not  to  frighten  me  with  the 
fortune  that  awaits  me.  I  know  the  opinions  of  mankind ;  I 
am  accustomed  to  their  injustice,  and  have  learned  to  care 
little  about  it.  If  you  have  taken  your  resolution,  as  I  have 
reason  to  believe  you  have,  be  assured  mine  is  taken  also.  I 
am  feeble  indeed  in  body,  but  never  possessed  greater  strength 
of  mind. 

Mankind  may  say  and  do  what  they  will,  it  is  of  little  con- 
sequence to  me.  What  is  of  consequence,  however,  is,  that  I 
should  end  as  I  have  begun ;  that  I  should  continue  to  pre- 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  Xcix 

serve  my  ingenuousness  and  integrity  to  the  end,  whatever 
may  happen ;  and  that  I  should  have  no  cause  to  reproach 
myself  either  with  meanness  in  adversity,  or  insolence  in  pros- 
perity. Whatever  disgrace  attends,  or  misfortune  threatens 
me,  I  am  ready  to  meet  them.  Though  I  am  to  be  pitied,  I 
am  much  less  so  than  you,  and  all  the  revenge  I  shall  take  on 
you  is,  to  leave  you  the  tormenting  consciousness  of  being 
obliged  in  spite  of  yourself  to  have  a  respect  for  the  unfortu- 
nate person  you  have  oppressed. 

In  closing  this  letter,  I  am  surprised  at  my  having  been 
able  to  write  it.  If  it  were  possible  to  die  with  grief,  every 
line  was  sufficient  to  kill  me  with  sorrow.  Every  circum- 
stance of  the  affair  is  equally  incomprehensible.  Such  con- 
duct as  yours  hath  been,  is  not  in  nature :  it  is  contradictory 
to  itself,  and  yet  it  is  demonstrable  to  me  that  it  has  been 
such  as  I  conceive.  On  each  side  of  me  there  is  a  bottomless 
abyss  !  and  I  am  lost  in  one  or  the  other. 

If  you  are  guilty,  I  am  the  most  unfortunate  of  mankind  ; 
if  you  are  innocent,  I  am  the  most  culpable.*  You  even 
make  me  desire  to  be  that  contemptible  object.  Yes,  the 
situation  to  which  you  see  me  reduced,  prostrate  at  your 
feet,  crying  out  for  mercy,  and  doing  every  thing  to  obtain 
it ;  publishing  aloud  my  own  unworthiness,  and  paying  the 
most  explicit  homage  to  your  virtues,  would  be  a  state  of 
joy  and  cordial  effusion,  after  the  grievous  state  of  restraint 
and  mortification  into  which  you  have  plunged  me.  I  have 
but  a  word  more  to  say.  If  you  are  guilty,  write  to  me  no 
more,;  it  would  be  superfluous,  for  certainly  you  could  not 
deceive  me.  If  you  are  innocent,  justify  yourself.  I  know 
my  duty ;  I  love,  and  shall  always  love  it,  however  difficult 

*  And  does  it  depend  on  an  if,  after  all  Mr.  R.'s  positive  conviction,  and  absolute 
demonstrations  3  —  English  Translator. 


C  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

and  severe.  There  is  no  state  of  abjection  that  a  heart,  not 
formed  for  it,  may  not  recover  from.  Once  again,  I  say, 
if  you  are  innocent,  deign  to  justify  yourself;  if  you  are  not, 
adieu,  for  ever.  J.  J.  R. 

I  hesitated  some  time  whether  I  should  make  any  reply 
to  this  strange  memorial.  At  length  I  determined  to  write 
Mr.  Rousseau  the  following  letter. 


MR.  HUME   TO  MR.  ROUSSEAU. 

Lisle-street,  Leicester-fields,  July  22,  1766.  . 

Sir,  —  I  shall  only  answer  one  article  of  your  long  letter : 
it  is  that  which  regards  the  conversation  between  us  the 
evening  before  your  departure.  Mr.  Davenport  had  imagined 
a  good-natured  artifice,  to  make  you  believe  that  a  retour 
chaise  had  offered  for  Wooton ;  and  I  believe  he  made  an 
advertisement  be  put  in  the  papers,  in  order  the  better  to 
deceive  you.  His  purpose  was  only  to  save  you  some 
expenses  in  the  journey,  which  I  thought  a  laudable  pro- 
ject ;  though  I  had  no  hand  either  in  contriving  or  conduct- 
ing it.  You  entertained,  however,  suspicions  of  his  design, 
while  we  were  sitting  alone  by  my  fireside ;  and  you  re- 
proached me  with  concurring  in  it.  I  endeavored  to  pacify 
you,  and  to  divert  the  discourse ;  but  to  no  purpose.  You 
sat  sullen,  and  was  either  silent,  or  made  me  very  peevish 
answers.  At  last  you  rose  up,  and  took  a  turn  or  two  about 
the  room ;  when  all  of  a  sudden,  and  to  my  great  surprise, 
you  clapped  yourself  on  my  knee,  threw  your  arms  about 
my  neck,  kissed  me  with  seeming  ardor,  and  bedewed  my 
face  with  tears.     You  exclaimed,  u  My  dear  friend,  can  you 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  CI 

ever  pardon  this  folly  !  After  all  the  pains  you  have  taken 
to  serve  me,  after  the  numberless  instances  of  friendship  you 
have  given  me,  here  I  reward  you  with  this  ill-humor  and 
sullenness.  But  your  forgiveness  of  me  will  be  a  new  in- 
stance of  your  friendship  ;  and  I  hope  you  will  find  at  bottom, 
that  my  heart  is  not  unworthy  of  it." 

I  was  very  much  affected,  I  own;  and  I  believe,  there 
passed  a  very  tender  scene  between  us.  You  added,  by 
way  of  compliment,  that  though  I  had  many  better  titles  to 
recommend  me  to  posterity,  yet  perhaps  my  uncommon 
attachment  and  friendship  to  a  poor  unhappy  persecuted 
man,  would  not  altogether  be  overlooked. 

This  incident,  Sir,  was  somewhat  remarkable  ;  and  it  is 
impossible  that  either  you  or  I  could  so  soon  have  forgot 
it.  But  you  have  had  the  assurance  to  tell  me  the  story 
twice  in  a  manner  so  different,  or  rather  so  opposite,  that 
when  I  persist,  as  I  do,  in  this  account,  it  necessarily  follows, 
that  either  you  or  I  am  a  liar.  You  imagine,  perhaps,  that 
because  the  incident  passed  privately  without  a  witness,  the 
question  will  lie  between  the  credibility  of  your  assertion  and 
of  mine.  But  you  shall  not  have  this  advantage  or  disad- 
vantage, whichever  you  are  pleased  to  term  it.  I  shall  pro- 
duce against  you  other  proofs,  which  will  put  the  matter 
beyond  controversy. 

First,  You  are  not  aware,  that  I  have  a  letter  under  your 
hand,  which  is  totally  irreconcilable  with  your  account,  and 
confirms  mine.* 

Secondly,  I  told  the   story  the  next  day,  or  the  day  after, 

*  That  of  the  22d  of  March,  which  is  entirely  cordial;  and  proves  that  Mr.  Rous- 
seau had  never,  till  that  moment,  entertained,  or  at  least  discovered  the  smallest 
suspicion  against  me.  There  is  also  in  the  same  letter,  a  peevish  passage  about  the 
hire  of  a  chaise.  —  Mr.  Hume. 

I* 


Cll  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

to  Mr.  Davenport,  with  a  friendly  view  of  preventing  any- 
such  good-natured  artifices  for  the  future.  He  surely  remem- 
bers it. 

Thirdly,  As  I  thought  the  story  much  to  your  honor,  I 
told  it  to  several  of  my  friends  here.  I  even  wrote  it  to  Mde. 
de  Boufflers  at  Paris.  I  believe  no  one  will  imagine,  that 
I  was  preparing  beforehand  an  apology,  in  case  of  a  rupture 
with  you;  which,  of  all  human  events,  I  should  then  have 
thought  the  most  incredible,  especially  as  we  were  separated 
almost  for  ever,  and  I  still  continued  to  render  you  the  most 
essential  services. 

Fourthly,  The  story,  as  I  tell  it,  is  consistent  and  rational : 
there  is  not  common  sense  in  your  account.  What !  because 
sometimes,  when  absent  in  thought,  I  have  a  fixed  look  or 
stare,  you  suspect  me  to  be  a  traitor,  and  you  have  the 
assurance  to  tell  me  of  such  black  and  ridiculous  suspicions ! 
Are  not  most  studious  men  (and  many  of  them  more  than 
I)  subject  to  such  reveries  or  fits  of  absence,  without  being 
exposed  to  such  suspicions  ?  You  do  not  even  pretend  that, 
before  you  left  London,  you  had  any  other  solid  grounds  of 
suspicion  against  me. 

I  shall  enter  into  no  detail  with  regard  to  your  letter :  the 
other  articles  of  it  are  as  much  without  foundation  as  you 
yourself  know  this  to  be.  I  shall  only  add,  in  general,  that 
I  enjoyed  about  a  month  ago  an  uncommon  pleasure,  when 
^reflected,  that  through  many  difficulties,  and  by  most 
assiduous  care  and  pains,  I  had,  beyond  my  most  sanguine 
expectations,  provided  for  your  repose,  honor,  and  fortune. 
But  I  soon  felt  a  very  sensible  uneasiness  when  I  found  that 
you  had  wantonly  and  voluntarily  thrown  away  all  these 
advantages,  and  was  become  the  declared  enemy  of  your 
repose,  fortune,  and  honor :  I  cannot  be  surprised  after  this 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  Clll 

that  you  are  my  enemy.     Adieu,  and  for  ever.     I  am,  Sir, 

yours,  D.  H. 

To  all  these   papers,  I  need  only   subjoin  the   following 

letter  of   Mr.    Walpole  to  me,  which    proves  how  ignorant 

and   innocent   I   am   of  the   whole   matter   of  the  King   of 
Prussia's  letter. 


MR.  WALPOLE   TO  MR.  HUME. 

Arlington  Street,  July  26,  1766. 

I  cannot  be  precise  as  to  the  time  of  my  writing  the  King 
of  Prussia's  letter,  but  I  do  assure  you,  with  the  utmost  truth, 
that  it  was '  several  days  before  you  left  Paris,  and  before 
Rousseau's  arrival  there,  of  which  I  can  give  you  a  strong 
proof ;  for  I  not  only  suppressed  the  letter  while  you  stayed 
there,  out  of  delicacy  to  you,  but  it  was  the  reason  why, 
out  of  delicacy  to  myself,  I  did  not  go  to  see  him,  as  you 
often  proposed  to  me :  thinking  it  wrong  to  go  and  make 
a  cordial  visit  to  a  man,  with  a  letter  in  my  pocket  to  laugh 
at  him.  You  are  at  full  liberty,  dear  Sir,  to  make  use  of 
what  I  say  in  your  justification,  either  to  Rousseau  or  any- 
body else.  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  you  blamed  on 
my  account :  I  have  a  hearty  contempt  of  Rousseau,  and 
am  perfectly  indifferent  what  anybody  thinks  of  the  matter. 
If  there  is  any  fault,  which  I  am  far  from  thinking,  let  it  lie 
on  me.  No  parts  can  hinder  my  laughing  at  their  possessor, 
if  he  is  a  mountebank.  If  he  has  a  bad  and  most  ungrateful 
heart,  as  Rousseau  has  shown  in  your  case,  into  the  bargain, 
he  will  have  my  scorn  likewise,  as  he  will  of  all  good  and 
sensible  men.     You  may  trust  your  sentence  to  such,  who  are 


CIV  CONTROVERSY    BETWEEN 

as  respectable  judges  as  any  that  have  pored  over  ten  thou- 
sand more  volumes. 

Yours  most  sincerely, 

H.  W. 

Thus  I  have  given  a  narrative,  as  concise  as  possible,  of 
this  extraordinary  affair,  which  I  am  told  has  very  much 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  public,  and  which  contains 
more  unexpected  incidents  than  any  other  in  which  I  was 
ever  engaged.  The  persons  to  whom  I  have  shown  the 
original  papers  which  authenticate  the  whole,  have  differed 
very  much  in  their  opinion,  as  well  of  the  use  I  ought  to 
make  of  them  as  of  Mr.  Rousseau's  present  sentiments  and 
state  of  mind.  Some  of  them  have  maintained  that  he  is 
altogether  insincere  in  his  quarrel  with  me,  and  his  opinion  of 
my  guilt,  and  that  the  whole  proceeds  from  that  excessive 
pride  which  forms  the  basis  of  his  character,  and  which  leads 
him  both  to  seek  the  eclat  of  refusing  the  King  of  England's 
bounty,  and  to  shake  off  the  intolerable  burden  of  an  obliga- 
tion to  me,  by  every  sacrifice  of  honor,  truth,  and  friendship, 
as  well  as  of  interest.  They  found  their  sentiments  on  the 
absurdity  of  that  first  supposition  on  which  he  grounds  his 
anger,  viz.  that  Mr.  Walpole's  letter,  which  he  knew  had  been 
everywhere  dispersed  both  in  Paris  and  London,  was  given 
to  the  press  by  me ;  and  as  this  supposition  is  contrary  to  com- 
mon sense  on  the  one  hand,  and  not  supported  even  by  the 
pretence  of  the  slightest  probability  on  the  other,  they  con- 
clude, that  it  never  had  any  weight  even  with  the  person  him- 
self who  lays  hold  of  it.  They  confirm  their  sentiments  by 
the  number  of  fictions  and  lies  which  he  employs  to  justify  his 
anger ;  fictions  with  regard  to  points  in  which  it  is  impossible 
for  him  to  be  mistaken.  They  also  remark  his  real  cheerful- 
ness and  gaiety,  amidst  the  deep  melancholy  with  which  he 


HUME  AND   ROUSSEAU.  CV 

pretended  to  be  oppressed ;  not  to  mention  the  absurd  reason- 
ing which  runs  through  the  whole,  and  on  which  it  is  impos- 
sible for  any  man  to  rest  his  conviction.  And  though  a  very- 
important  interest  is  here  abandoned,  yet  money  is  not  uni- 
versally the  chief  object  with  mankind :  vanity  weighs  further 
with  some  men,  particularly  with  this  philosopher ;  and  the 
very  ostentation  of  refusing  a  pension  from  the  King  of  Eng- 
land —  an  ostentation  which,  with  regard  to  other  Princes,  he 
has  often  sought  —  might  be  of  itself  a  sufficient  motive  for 
his  present  conduct. 

There  are  others  of  my  friends  who  regard  this  whole  affair 
in  a  more  compassionate  light,  and  consider  Mr.  Rousseau  as 
an  object  rather  of  pity  than  of  anger.  They  suppose  the 
same  domineering  pride  and  ingratitude  to  be  the  basis  of  his 
character ;  but  they  are  also  willing  to  believe  that  his  brain 
has  received  a  sensible  shock,  and  that  his  judgment,  set 
afloat,  is  carried  to  every  side,  as  it  is  pushed  by  the  current 
of  his  humors  and  of  his  passions.  The  absurdity  of  his 
belief  is  no  proof  of  its  insincerity.  He  imagines  himself  the 
sole  important  being  in  the  universe  :  he  fancies  all  mankind 
to  be  in  a  combination  against  him :  his  greatest  benefactor, 
as  hurting  him  most,  is  the  chief  object  of  his  animosity :  and 
though  he  supports  all  his  whimsies  by  lies  and  fictions,  this  is 
so  frequent  a  case  with  wicked  men,  who  are  in  that  middle 
state  between  sober  reason  and  total  frenzy,  that  it  needs  give 
no  surprise  to  anybody. 

I  own  that  I  am  much  inclined  to  this  latter  opinion; 
though,  at  the  same  time,  I  question  whether,  in  any  period  of 
his  life,  Mr.  Rousseau  was  ever  more  in  his  senses  than  he  is 
at  present.  The  former  brilliancy  of  his  genius,  and  his  great 
talents  for  writing,  are  no  proof  of  the  contrary.  It  is  an  old 
remark,  that  great  wits  are  near  allied  to  madness ;  and  even 
in  those  frantic  letters  which  he  has  wrote  to  me,  there  are 


CV1  CONTROVERSY   BETWEEN 

evidently  strong  traces  of  his  wonted  genius  and  eloquence. 
He  has  frequently .  told  me  that  he  was  composing  his 
memoirs,  in  which  justice  should  be  done  to  his  own  charac- 
ter, to  that  of  his  friends,  and  to  that  of  his  enemies ;  and  as 
Mr.  Davenport  informs  me,  that,  since  his  retreat  into  the 
country,  he  has  been  much  employed  in  writing,  I  have  rea- 
son to  conclude  that  he  is  at  present  finishing  that  undertak- 
ing. Nothing  could  be  more  unexpected  to  me  than  my  pass- 
ing so  suddenly  from  the  class  of  his  friends  to  that  of  his 
enemies ;  but  this  transition  being  made,  I  must  expect  to  be 
treated  accordingly ;  and  I  own  that  this  reflection  gave  me 
some  anxiety.*  A  work  of  this  nature,  both  from  the  celebrity 
of  the  person,  and  the  strokes  of  eloquence  interspersed,  would 
certainly  attract  the  attention  of  the  world ;  and  it  might  be 
published  either  after  my  death,  or  after  that  of  the  author.  In 
the  former  case,  there  would  be  nobody  who  could  tell  the 
story,  or  justify  my  memory.  In  the  latter,  my  apology,  wrote 
in  opposition  to  a  dead  person,  would  lose  a  great  deal  of  its 
authenticity.  For  this  reason,  I  have  at  present  collected  the 
whole  story  into  one  Narrative,  that  I  may  show  it  to  my 
friends,  and  at  any  time  have  it  in  my  power  to  make  what- 
ever use  of  it  they  and  I  should  think  proper.  I  am,  and 
always  have  been,  such  a  lover  of  peace,  that  nothing  but 
necessity,  or  very  forcible  reasons,  could  have  obliged  me  to 
give  it  to  the  public. 

" Perdidi  benejicium.  Numquid  quce  consecravimus  perdidisse  nos  dicimus?  Inter 
consecrata  benejicium  est ;  etiam  si  male  respondit,  bene  collatum.  Non  est  tile  qaalem 
speravimus ;  simus  nos  qualesfuimus,  ei  dissimiles." 

Seneca  de  Beneficiis,  lib.  vii.  cap.  29. 

*  In  his  letter  of  the  22d  of  March,  he  natters  me  indirectly  with  the  figure  I 
am  to  make  in  his  Memoirs.  In  that  of  the  23d  of  June,  he  threatens  me.  These 
are  proofs  how  much  he  is  in  earnest. 


HUME   AND    ROUSSEAU.  CV11 


DECLARATION  OF  MR.  D'ALEMBERT,  RELATING  TO 
MR.  WALPOLE'S  LETTER. 

(Addressed  to  the  French  Editors.) 

It  is  with  the  greatest  surprise  I  learn,  from  Mr.  Hume, 
that  Mr.  Rousseau  accuses  me  of  being  the  author  of  the 
ironical  letter  addressed  to  him,  in  the  public  papers,  under 
the  name  of  the  King  of  Prussia.  Everybody  knows,  both 
at  Paris  and  London,  that  such  a  letter  was  written  by  Mr. 
Walpole ;  nor  does  he  disown  it.  He  acknowledges  only  that 
he  was  a  little  assisted,  in  regard  to  the  style,  by  a  person  he 
does  not  name,  and  whom  perhaps  he  ought  to  name.  As  to 
my  part,  on  whom  the  public  suspicions  have  fallen  in  this 
affair,  I  am  not  at  all  acquainted  with  Mr.  Walpole.  I  do  n't 
even  believe  I  ever  spoke  to  him ;  having  only  happened  to 
meet  once  occasionally  on  a  visit.  I  have  not  only  had  not 
the  least  to  do,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  with  the  letter  in 
question,  but  could  mention  above  a  hundred  persons,  among 
the  friends  as  well  as  enemies  of  Mr.  Rousseau,  who  have 
heard  me  greatly  disapprove  of  it;  because,  as  I  said,  we 
ought  not  to  ridicule  the  unfortunate,  especially  when  they  do 
us  no  harm.  Besides,  my  respect  for  the  King  of  Prussia, 
and  the  acknowledgments  I  owe  him,  might,  I  should  have 
thought,  have  persuaded  Mr.  Rousseau  that  I  should  not 
have  taken  such  a  liberty  with  the  name  of  that  Prince, 
though  in  pleasantry. 

To  this  I  shall  add,  that  I  never  was  an  enemy  to  Mr. 
Rousseau,  either  open  or  secret,  as  he  pretends ;  and  I  defy 
him  to  produce  the  least  proof  of  my  having  endeavored  to 
injure  him  in  any  shape  whatever.     I  can  prove  to  the  con- 


CV111  HUME  AND   ROUSSEAU. 

trary,  by  the  most  respectable  witnesses,  that  I  have  always 
endeavored  to  oblige  him,  whenever  it  lay  in  my  power. 

As  to  my  pretended  secret  correspondence  with  Mr.  Hume, 
it  is  very  certain  that  we  did  not  begin  to  write  to  each  other 
till  about  five  or  six  months  after  his  departure,  on  occasion  of 
the  quarrel  arisen  between  him  and  Mr.  Rousseau,  and  into 
which  the  latter  thought  proper  unnecessarily  to  introduce  me. 

I  thought  this  declaration  necessary  for  my  own  sake,  as 
well  as  for  the  sake  of  truth,  and  in  regard  to  the  situation  of 
Mr.  Rousseau.  I  sincerely  lament  his  having  so  little  con- 
fidence in  the  probity  of  mankind,  and  particularly  in  that  of 
Mr.  Hume. 

D'Alembert. 


y 


SCOTTICISMS 


VOL.  I. 


SCOTTICISMS. 


Will,  in  the  first  person,  as  /  will  walk,  we  will  walk,  ex- 
presses the  intention  or  resolution  of  the  person,  along  with 
the  future  event :  In  the  second  and  third  person,  as,  you  will, 
he  will,  they  will,  it  expresses  the  future  action  or  event,  with- 
out comprehending  or  excluding  the  volition. 

Shall,  in  the  first  person,  whether  singular  or  plural,  ex- 
presses the  future  action  or  event,  without  excluding  or  com- 
prehending the  intention  or  resolution  :  But  in  the  second  or 
third  person,  it  marks  a  necessity,  and  commonly  a  necessity 
proceeding  from  the  person  who  speaks ;  as,  he  shall  walk, 
you  shall  repent  it. 

These  variations  seem  to  have  proceeded  from  a  politeness 
in  the  English,  who,  in  speaking  to  others,  or  of  others,  made 
use  of  the  term  will,  which  implies  volition,  even  where  the 
event  may  be  the  subject  of  necessity  and  constraint.  And 
in  speaking  of  themselves,  made  use  of  the  term  shall,  which 
implies  constraint,  even  though  the  event  may, be  the  object 
of  choice. 

Wou,d  and  should  are  conjunctive  moods,  subject  to  the 
same  rule ;  only,  we  may  observe,  that  in  a  sentence,  where 
there  is  a  condition  expressed,  and  a  consequence  of  that 
condition,  the  former  always  requires  should,  and  the  latter 


CX11  SCOTTICISMS. 

wotfd,  in  the  second  and  third  persons ;  as,  if  he  should  fall, 
he  ivorfd  break  his  leg,  etc. 

These  is  the  plural  of  this;  those  of  that.  The  former, 
therefore,  expresses  what  is  near :  the  latter,  what  is  more 
remote.     As,  in  these  lines  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham, 

"  Philosophers  and  poets  vainly  strove, 
In  every  age,  the  lumpish  mass  to  move. 
But  those  were  pedants  if  compared  with  these, 
Who  knew  not  only  to  instruct,  but  please." 

Where  a  relative  is  to  follow,  and  the  subject  has  not  been 
mentioned  immediately  before,  those  is  always  required. 
Those  observations  vjhich  he  made.  Those  kingdoms  which 
Alexander  conquered. 

In  the  verbs,  which  end  in  t,  or  te,  we  frequently  omit  ed 
in  the  preterperfect  and  in  the  participle ;  as,  he  operate,  it 
was  cultivate.  Milton  says,  in  thought  more  elevate ;  but  he 
is  the  only  author  who  uses  that  expression. 

Notice  should  not  be  used  as  a  verb.  The  proper  phrase 
is  take  notice.  Yet  I  find  Lord  Shaftesbury  uses  noticed,  the 
participle  :  And  unnoticed  is  very  common. 

Hinder  to  do,  is  Scotch.  The  English  phrase  is,  hinder 
from  doing.  Yet  Milton  says,  Hindered  not  Satan  to  pervert 
the  mind.     Book  IX. 

SCOTCH.  ENGLISH. 

Conform  to  Conformable  to 

Friends  and  acquaintances  Friends  and  acquaintance 

Maltreat  Abuse 

Advert  to  Attend  to 

Proven,  improven,  approven  Prov'd,  improv'd,  approv'd 

Pled  Pleaded 

Incarcerate  Imprison 

Tear  to  pieces  Tear  in  pieces 


SCOTTICISMS. 

SCOTCH.      . 

ENGLISH. 

Drunk,  run                   f 

Drank,  ran 

Fresh  weather 

Open  weather 

Tender 

Sickly 

In  the  long  run 

At  long  run 

Notwithstanding  of  that 

Notwithstanding  that 

Contented  himself  to  do 

Contented  himself  with  doin. 

'Tis  a  question  if 

'Tis  a  question  whether 

Discretion 

Civility 

With  child  to  a  man 

With  child  by  a  man 

Out  of  hand 

Presently 

Simply  impossible 

Absolutely  impossible 

A  park 

An  inclosure 

In  time  coming 

In  time  to  come 

Nothing  else 

No  other  thing 

Mind  it 

Eemember  it 

Denuded 

Divested 

Severals 

Several 

Some  better 

Something  better 

Anent 

With  regard  to 

Allenarly 

Solely 

Alongst.     Yet  the  English 

say  both 

A-lonc 

amid,  amidst,  among,  and 

amongst 

Evenly 

Even 

As  I  shall  answer 

I  protest  or  declare 

Cause  him  to  do  it.    Yet  'tis  good 
English  to  say,  make  him  do  it 

Cause  him  to  do  it 

Marry  upon 

Marry  to 

Learn 

Teach 

There,  where 

Thither,  whither 

Effectuate.      This  word    in  English 

means  to    effect  with    pains    and 

Effect 

difficulty 

A  wright    Yet  't  is  good  English  to 
say,  a  wheelwright 

A  Carpenter 

Defunct 

Deceased 

Evite 

Avoid 

CX111 


CX1V 


SCOTTICISMS. 


SCOTCH. 

Part  with  child 
Notour 

To  want  it 

To  be  difficulted 

Rebuted 

For  ordinary 

Think  shame 

In  favors  of 

Dubiety 

Prejudge 

Compete 

Heritable 

To  remeed 

Bankier 

Adduce  a  proof 

Superplus 

Forfaulture 

In  no  event 

Common  soldiers 

Big  with  a  man 

Bygone 

Debitor 

Exeemed 

Yesternight 

Big  coat 

A  chimney 

Annualrent 

Tenible  argument 

Amissing 

To  condescend  upon 

To  discharge 

To  extinguish  an  obligation 

To  depone 

A  compliment 

To  inquire  at  a  man 


ENGLISH. 

Miscarry 
Notorious 
To  be  without  a  thing,  even  though  it 

be  not  desirable 
To  be  puzzled 
Discouraged  by  repulses 
Usually 
Ashamed 
In  favor  of 
Doubtfulness 
Hurt 

Enter  into  competition 
Hereditary 
To  remedy 
Banker 

Produce  a  proof 
Surplus 
Forfeiture 
In  no  case 
Private  men 
Great  with  a  man 
Past 
Debtor 
Exempted 
Last  night 
Great  coat 
A  grate 
Interest 
Good  argument 
Missing 
To  specify 
To  forbid 

To  cancel  an  obligation 
To  depose 
A  present 
To  inquire  of  a  man 


SCOTTICISMS. 


cxv 


SCOTCH. 

To  be  angry  at  a  man 

To  send  an  errand 

To  furnish  goods  to  him 

To  open  up 

Thucydlde,  Herodot,  Sueton 

Butter  and  bread 

Pepper  and  vinegar 

Paper,  pen,  and  ink 

Readily 

On  a  sudden 

As  ever  I  saw 

For  my  share 

Misgive 

Rather  choose  to  buy  as  sell 

Deduce 

Looked  over  the  window 

A  pretty  enough  girl 

*T  is  a  week  since  he  left  this 

Come  in  to  the  fire 

To  take  off  a  new  coat 

Alwise 

Cut  out  his  hair 

Cry  him 

To  crave 

To  get  a  stomach 

Vacance 


ENGLISH. 

To  be  angry  with  a  man 

To  send  off  an  errand 

To  furnish  him  with  goods 

To  open,  or  lay  open 

Thucydides,  Herodotus,  Suetonius 

Bread  and  butter 

Vinegar  and  pepper 

Pen,  ink,  and  paper 

Probably 

Of  a  sudden 

As  I  ever  saw 

For  my  part 

Fail 

Rather  choose  to  buy  than  sell 

Deduct 

Looked  out  at  the  window 

A  pretty  girl  enough 

'T  is  a  week  since  he  left  this  place 

Come  near  the  fire 

To  make  up  a  new  suit 

Always 

Cut  off  his  hair 

Call  him 

To  dun,  to  ask  payment 

To  get  an  appetite 

Vacation 


A  TREATISE 

OF  HUMAN  NATURE. 


BEING    AN  ATTEMPT 


TO  INTRODUCE  THE  EXPERIMENTAL  METHOD  OF  REASONING 


MORAL   SUBJECTS. 


KAEA  TEMPOKUM   FELICITAS,  UBI  SENTIEE,  QUJE  VELIS  ;   ET   QU.E 
8ENTIAS,  DICERE  LICET.  —  TocitUS. 


BOOK  I. 
OF  THE  UNDERSTANDING 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

My  design  in  the  present  Work  is  sufficiently  explained 
in  the  Introduction.  The  reader  must  only  observe,  that 
all  the  subjects  I  have  there  planned  out  to  myself  are 
not  treated  in  these  two  volumes.  The  subjects  of  the 
Understanding  and  Passions  make  a  complete  chain  of 
reasoning  by  themselves ;  and  I  was  willing  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  this  natural  division,  in  order  to  try  the  taste 
of  the  Public.  If  I  have  the  good  fortune  to  meet  with 
success,  I  shall  proceed  to  the  examination  of  Morals,  Pol- 
itics, and  Criticism,  which  will  complete  this  Treatise  of 
Human  Nature.  The  approbation  of  the  Public  I  consider 
as  the  greatest  reward  of  my  labors ;  but  am  determined  to 
regard  its  judgment,  whatever  it  be,  as  my  best  instruction. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Nothing  is  more  usual  and  more  natural  for  those,  who 
pretend  to  discover  any  thing  new  to  the  world  in  phi- 
losophy and  the  sciences,  than  to  insinuate  the  praises  of 
their  own  systems,  by  decrying  all  those  which  have  been 
advanced  before  them.  And  indeed  were  they  content 
with  lamenting  that  ignorance,  which  we  still  lie  under 
in  the  most  important  questions  that  can  come  before 
the  tribunal  of  human  reason,  there  are  few,  who  have 
an  acquaintance  with  the  sciences,  that  would  not  readily 
agree  with  them.  It  is  easy  for  one  of  judgment  and 
learning,  to  perceive  the  weak  foundation  even  of  those 
systems,  which  have  obtained  the  greatest  credit,  and 
have  carried  their  pretensions  highest  to  accurate  and 
profound  reasoning.  Principles  taken  upon  trust,  conse- 
quences lamely  deduced  from  them,  want  of  coherence 
in  the  parts,  and  of  evidence  in  the  whole,  these  are 
everywhere  to  be  met  with  in  the  systems  of  the  most 
eminent  philosophers,  and  seem  to  have  drawn  disgrace 
upon  philosophy  itself. 

Nor  is  there  required  such  profound  knowledge  to  dis- 
cover the  present  imperfect  condition  of  the  sciences, 
but  even  the  rabble  without  doors  may  judge  from  the 

vol.  i.  1 


D  INTRODUCTION. 

noise  and  clamor  which  they  hear,  that  all  goes  not  well 
within.  There  is  nothing  which  is  not  the  subject  of  de- 
bate, and  in  which  men  of  learning  are  not  of  contrary 
opinions.  The  most  trivial  question  escapes  not  our  con- 
troversy, and  in  the  most  momentous  we  are  not  able  to 
give  any  certain  decision.  Disputes  are  multiplied,  as  if 
every  thing  was  uncertain.  Amidst  all  this  bustle,  it  is 
not  reason  which  carries  the  prize,  but  eloquence ;  and 
no  man  needs  ever  despair  of  gaining  proselytes  to  the 
most  extravagant  hypothesis,  who  has  art  enough  to  rep- 
resent it  in  any  favorable  colors.  The  victory  is  not 
gained  by  the  men  at  arms,  who  manage  the  pike  and 
the  sword,  but  by  the  trumpeters,  drummers,  and  musi- 
cians of  the  army. 

From  hence,  in  my  opinion,  arises  that  common  pre- 
judice against  metaphysical  reasonings  of  all  kinds,  even 
amongst  those  who  profess  themselves  scholars,  and  have 
a  just  value  for  every  other  part  of  literature.  By  met- 
aphysical reasonings,  they  do  not  understand  those  on 
any  particular  branch  of  science,  but  every  kind  of  ar- 
gument which  is  any  way  abstruse,  and  requires  some 
attention  to  be  comprehended.  We  have  so  often  lost 
our  labor  in  such  researches,  that  we  commonly  reject 
them  without  hesitation,  and  resolve,  if  we  must  for  ever 
be  a  prey  to  errors  and  delusions,  that  they  shall  at  least 
be  natural  and  entertaining.  And,  indeed,  nothing  but 
the  most  determined  scepticism,  along  with  a  great  de- 
gree of  indolence,  can  justify  this  aversion  to  metaphys- 
ics. For,  if  truth  be  at  all  within  the  reach  of  human 
capacity,  it  is  certain  it  must  lie  very  deep  and  abstruse ; 
and  to  hope  we  shall  arrive  at  it  without  pains,  while  the 
greatest  geniuses  have  failed  with  the  utmost  pains,  must 
certainly  be  esteemed  sufficiently  vain  and  presumptuous. 
I  pretend  to  no  such  advantage  in  the  philosophy  I  am 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

going  to  unfold,  and  would  esteem  it  a  strong  presump 
tion  against  it,  were  it  so  very  easy  and  obvious. 

It  is  evident,  that  all  the  sciences  have  a  relation, 
greater  or  less,  to  human  nature ;  and  that,  however 
wide  any  of  them  may  seem  to  run  from  it,  they  still 
return  back  by  one  passage  or  another.  Even  Mathe- 
matics, Natural  Philosophy,  and  Natural  Religion,  are  in 
some  measure  dependent  on  the  science  of  Man;  since 
they  lie  under  the  cognizance  of  men,  and  are  judged  of 
by  their  powers  and  faculties.  It  is  impossible  to  tell 
what  changes  and  improvements  we  might  make  in  these 
sciences  were  we  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  extent 
and  force  of  human  understanding,  and  could  explain 
the  nature  of  the  ideas  we  employ,  and  of  the  operations 
we  perform  in  our  reasonings.  And  these  improvements 
are  the  more  to  be  hoped  for  in  natural  religion,  as  it  is 
not  content  with  instructing  us  in  the  nature  of  superior 
powers,  but  carries  its  views  further,  to  their  disposition 
towards  us,  and  our  duties  towards  them ;  and  conse- 
quently, we  ourselves  are  not  only  the  beings  that  rea- 
son, but  also  one  of  the  objects  concerning  which  we 
reason. 

If,  therefore,  the  sciences  of  mathematics,  natural  phi- 
losophy, and  natural  religion,  have  such  a  dependence  on 
the  knowledge  of  man,  what  may  be  expected  in  the 
other  sciences,  whose  connection  with  human  nature  is 
more  close  and  intimate  ?  The  sole  end  of  logic  is  to 
explain  the  principles  and  operations  of  our  reasoning 
faculty,  and  the  nature  of  our  ideas ;  morals  and  criticism 
regard  our  tastes  and  sentiments ;  and  politics  consider 
men  as  united  in  society,  and  dependent  on  each  other. 
In  these  four  sciences  of  Logic,  Morals,  Criticism,  and  Pol- 
itics, is  comprehended  almost  every  thing  which  it  can 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

any  way  import  us  to  be  acquainted  with,  or  which 
can  tend  either  to  the  improvement  or  ornament  of  the 
human  mind. 

Here  then  is  the  only  expedient,  from  which  we  can 
hope  for  success  in  our  philosophical  researches,  to  leave 
the  tedious  lingering  method,  which  we  have  hitherto 
followed,  and,  instead  of  taking  now  and  then  a  castle  or 
village  on  the  frontier,  to  march  up  directly  to  the  capi- 
tal or  centre  of  these  sciences,  to  human  nature  itself; 
which  being  once  masters  of,  we  may  everywhere  else 
hope  for  an  easy  victory.     From  this  station  we  may 
extend  our  conquests  over  all  those  sciences,  which  more 
intimately  concern  human  life,  and  may  afterwards  pro- 
ceed at  leisure,  to  discover  more  fully  those  which  are 
the  objects  of  pure  curiosity.     There  is  no  question  of 
importance,  whose  decision  is  not  comprised  in  the  sci- 
ence of  man ;  and  there  is  none,  which  can  be  decided 
with  any  certainty,  before  we  become  acquainted  with 
that  science.     In  pretending,  therefore,  to   explain  the 
principles  of  human  nature,  we  in  effect  propose  a  com- 
plete system  of  the  sciences,  built  on  a  foundation  almost 
entirely  new,  and  the  only  one  upon  which  they  can 
stand  with  any  security. 

And,  as  the  science  of  man  is  the  only  solid  foundation 
for  the  other  sciences,  so,  the  only  solid  foundation  we 
can  give  to  this  science  itself  must  be  laid  oh  experience 
and  observation.  It  is  no  astonishing  reflection  to  con- 
sider, that  the  application  of  experimental  philosophy  to 
moral  subjects  should  come  after  that  to  natural,  at  the 
distance  of  above  a  whole  century ;  since  we  find  in  fact, 
that  there  was  about  the  same  interval  betwixt  the  ori- 
gins of  these  sciences ;  and  that,  reckoning  from  Thales 
to  Socrates,  the  space  of  time  is  nearly  equal  to  that  be- 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

twixt  my  Lord  Bacon  and  some  late  philosophers  *  in 
England,  who  have  begun  to  put  the  science  of  man  on 
a  new  footing,  and  have  engaged  the  attention,  and  ex- 
cited the  curiosity  of  the  public.  So  true  it  is,  that 
however  other  nations  may  rival  us  in  poetry,  and  excel 
us  in  some  other  agreeable  arts,  the  improvements  in 
reason  and  philosophy  can  only  be  owing  to  a  land  of 
toleration  and  of  liberty. 

Nor  ought  we  to  think,  that  this  latter  improvement 
in  the  science  of  man  will  do  less  honor  to  our  native 
country  than  the  former  in  natural  philosophy,  but 
ought  rather  to  esteem  it  a  greater  glory,  upon  account 
of  the  greater  importance  of  that  science,  as  well  as  the 
necessity  it  lay  under  of  such  a  reformation.  For  to  me 
it  seems  evident,  that  the  essence  of  the  mind  being 
equally  unknown  to  us  with  that  of  external  bodies,  it 
must  be  equally  impossible  to  form  any  notion  of  its 
powers  and  qualities  otherwise  than  from  careful  and 
exact  experiments,  and  the  observation  of  those  partic- 
lar  effects,  which  result  from  its  different  circumstances 
and  situations.  And  though  we  must  endeavor  to  render 
all  our  principles  as  universal  as  possible,  by  tracing  up 
our  experiments  to  the  utmost,  and  explaining  all  effects 
from  the  simplest  and  fewest  causes,  it  is  still  certain  we 
cannot  go  beyond  experience ;  and  any  hypothesis,  that 
pretends  to  discover  the  ultimate  original  qualities  of 
human  nature,  ought  at  first  to  be  rejected  as  presump- 
tuous and  chimerical. 

I  do  not  think  a  philosopher,  who  would  apply  himself 
so  earnestly  to  the  explaining  the  ultimate  principles  of 
the  soul,  would  show  himself  a  great  master  in  that  very 
science  of  human  nature,  which  he  pretends  to  explain, 

*  Mr.  Locke,  my  Lord  Shaftesbury,  Dr.  Mandeville,  Mr.  Hutchinson,  Dr. 
Butler,  etc. 

l* 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

or  very  knowing  in  what  is  naturally  satisfactory  to  the 
mind  of  man.  For  nothing  is  more  certain,  than  that 
despair  has  almost  the  same  effect  upon  us  with  enjoy- 
ment, and  that  we  are  no  sooner  acquainted  with  the 
impossibility  of  satisfying  any  desire,  than  the  desire  it- 
self vanishes.  When  we  see,  that  we  have  arrived  at 
the  utmost  extent  of  human  reason,  we  sit  down  con- 
tented ;  though  we  be  perfectly  satisfied  in  the  main  of 
our  ignorance,  and  perceive  that  we  can  give  no  reason 
for  our  most  general  and  most  refined  principles,  beside 
our  experience  of  their  reality;  which  is  the  reason  of 
the  mere  vulgar,  and  what  it  required  no  study  at  first 
to  have  discovered  for  the  most  particular  and  most  ex- 
traordinary phenomenon.  And  as  this  impossibility  of 
making  any  further  progress  is  enough  to  satisfy  the 
reader,  so  the  writer  may  derive  a  more  delicate  satisfac- 
tion from  the  free  confession  of  his  ignorance,  and  from 
his  prudence  in  avoiding  that  error,  into  which  so  many 
have  fallen,  of  imposing  their  conjectures  and  hypothe- 
ses on  the  world  for  the  most  certain  principles.  When 
this  mutual  contentment  and  satisfaction  can  be  obtained 
betwixt  the  master  and  scholar,  I  know  not  what  more 
we  can  require  of  our  philosophy. 

But  if  this  impossibility  of  explaining  ultimate  princi- 
ples should  be  esteemed  a  defect  in  the  science  of  man, 
I  will  venture  to  affirm,  that  it  is  a  defect  common  to  it 
with  all  the  sciences,  and  all  the  arts,  in  which  we  can 
employ  ourselves,  whether  they  be  such  as  are  cultivated 
in  the  schools  of  the  philosophers,  or  practised  in  the 
shops  of  the  meanest  artisans.  None  of  them  can  go 
beyond  experience,  or  establish  any  principles  which  are 
not  founded  on  that  authority.  Moral  philosophy  has, 
indeed,  this  peculiar  disadvantage,  which  is  not  found  in 
natural,  that  in  collecting  its  experiments,  it  cannot  make 


INTRODUCTION.  11 

them  purposely,  with  premeditation,  and  after  such  a 
manner  as  to  satisfy  itself  concerning  every  particular 
difficulty  which  may  arise.  When  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know 
the  effects  of  one  body  upon  another  in  any  situation,  I 
need  only  put  them  in  that  situation,  and  observe  what 
results  from  it.  But  should  I  endeavor  to  clear  up  after 
the  same  manner  any  doubt  in  moral  philosophy,  by 
placing  myself  in  the  same  case  with  that  which  I  con- 
sider, it  is  evident  this  reflection  and  premeditation  would 
so  disturb  the  operation  of  my  natural  principles,  as  must 
render  it  impossible  to  form  any  just  conclusion  from  the 
phenomenon.  We  must,  therefore,  glean  up  our  experi- 
ments in  this  science  from  a  cautious  observation  of  hu- 
man life,  and  take  them  as  they  appear  in  the  common 
course  of  the  world,  by  men's  behavior  in  company,  in 
affairs,  and  in  their  pleasures.  Where  experiments  of 
this  kind  are  judiciously  collected  and  compared,  we  may 
hope  to  establish  on  them  a  science  which  will  not  be  in- 
ferior in  certainty,  and  will  be  much  superior  in  utility, 
to  any  other  of  human  comprehension, 


BOOK  I . 
OF  THE  UNDERSTANDING 


PART  I, 


OF   IDEAS,  THEIR  ORIGIN,  COMPOSITION,  CONNECTION, 
AND  ABSTRACTION. 


SECTION  I 


OF   THE   ORIGIN   OF   OUR   IDEAS. 


All  the  perceptions  of  the  human  mind  resolve  them- 
selves into  two  distinct  kinds,  which  I  shall  call  impres- 
sions and  ideas.  The  difference  betwixt  these  consists  in 
the  degrees  of  force  and  liveliness,  with  which  they  strike 
upon  the  mind,  and  make  their  way  into  our  thought  or 
consciousness.  Those  perceptions  which  enter  with  most 
force  and  violence,  we  may  name  impressions  ;  and,  under 
this  name,  I  comprehend  all  our  sensations,  passions,  and 
emotions,  as  they  make  their  first  appearance  in  the  soul. 
By  ideas,  I  mean  the  faint  images  of  these  in  thinking 
and  reasoning ;  such  as,  for  instance,  are  all  the  percep- 
tions excited  by  the  present  discourse,  excepting  only 
those  which  arise  from  the  sight  and  touch,  and  except- 
ing the  immediate  pleasure  or  uneasiness  it  may  occa- 
sion. I  believe  it  will  not  be  very  necessary  to  employ 
many  words  in  explaining  this  distinction.  Every  one  of 
himself  will  readily  perceive  the  difference  betwixt  feel- 
ing and  thinking.  The  common  degrees  of  these  are 
easily  distinguished ;  though  it  is  not  impossible  but,  in 
particular  instances,  they  may  very  nearly  approach  to 
each  other.  Thus,  in  sleep,  in  a  fever,  in  madness,  or  in 
any  very  violent  emotions  of  soul,  our  ideas  may  ap- 
proach to  our  impressions:  as,  on  the  other  hand,  it 
sometimes  happens,  that  our  impressions  are  so  faint  and 


16  OF   THE  UNDERSTANDING. 

low,  that  we  cannot  distinguish  them  from  our  ideas. 
But,  notwithstanding  this  near  resemblance  in  a  few  in- 
stances, they  are  in  general  so  very  different,  that  no 
one  can  make  a  scruple  to  rank  them  under  distinct 
heads,  and  assign  to  each  a  peculiar  name  to  mark  the 
difference* 

There  is  another  division  of  our  perceptions,  which  it 
will  be  convenient  to  observe,  and  which  extends  itself 
both  to  our  impressions  and  ideas.  This  division  is  into 
simple  and  complex.  Simple  perceptions,  or  impressions 
and  ideas,  are  such  as  admit  of  no  distinction  nor  sepa- 
ration. The  complex  are  the  contrary  to  these,  and 
may  be  distinguished  into  parts.  Though  a  particular 
color,  taste,  and  smell,  are  qualities  all  united  together  in 
this  apple,  it  is  easy  to  perceive  they  are  not  the  same, 
but  are  at  least  distinguishable  from  each  other. 

Having,  by  these  divisions,  given  an  order  and  ar- 
rangement to  our  objects,  we  may  now  apply  ourselves 
to  consider,  with  the  more  accuracy,  their  qualities  and 
relations.  The  first  circumstance  that  strikes  my  eye,  is 
the  great  resemblance  betwixt  our  impressions  and  ideas 
in  every  other  particular,  except  their  degree  of  force 
and  vivacity.  The  one  seems  to  be,  in  a  manner,  the  re- 
flection of  the  other ;  so  that  all  the  perceptions  of  the 
mind  are  double,  and  appear  both  as  impressions  and 
ideas.  When  I  shut  my  eyes,  and  think  of  my  chamber, 
the  ideas  I  form  are  exact  representations  of  the  impres- 

*  I  here  make  use  of  these  terms,  impression  and  idea,  in  a  sense  different 
from  what  is  usual,  and  I  hope  this  liberty  will  be  allowed  me.  Perhaps  I 
rather  restore  the  word  idea  to  its  original  sense,  from  which  Mr.  Locke  had 
perverted  it,  in  making  it  stand  for  all  our  perceptions.  By  the  term  of  im- 
pression, I  would  not  be  understood  to  express  the  manner  in  which  our  lively 
perceptions  are  produced  in  the  soul,  but  merely  the  perceptions  themselves; 
for  which  there  is  no  particular  name,  either  in  the  English  or  any  other  lan- 
guage that  I  know  of. 


OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  17 

sions  I  felt ;  nor  is  there  any  circumstance  of  the  one, 
which  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  other.  In  running  over 
my  other  perceptions,  I  find  still  the  same  resemblance 
and  representation.  Ideas  and  impressions  appear  always 
to  correspond  to  each  other.  This  circumstance  seems  to 
me  remarkable,  and  engages  my  attention  for  a  moment. 

Upon  a  more  accurate  survey  I  find  I  have  been  car- 
ried away  too  far  by  the  first  appearance,  and  that  I  must 
make  use  of  the  distinction  of  perceptions  into  simple 
and  complex,  to  limit  this  general  decision,  that  all  oar  ideas 
and  impressions  are  resembling.  I  observe  that  many  of  our 
complex  ideas  never  had  impressions  that  corresponded 
to  them,  and  that  many  of  our  complex  impressions 
never  are  exactly  copied  in  ideas.  I  can  imagine  to  myself 
such  a  city  as  the  New  Jerusalem,  whose  pavement  is 
gold,  and  walls  are  rubies,  though  I  never  saw  any  such. 
I  have  seen  Paris ;  but  shall  I  affirm  I  can  form  such  an 
idea  of  that  city,  as  will  perfectly  represent  all  its  streets 
and  houses  in  their  real  and  just  proportions  ? 

I  perceive,  therefore,  that  though  there  is,  in  general, 
a  great  resemblance  betwixt  our  complex  impressions  and 
ideas,  yet  the  rule  is  not  universally  true,  that  they  are 
exact  copies  of  each  other.  We  may  next  consider,  how 
the  case  stands  with  our  simple  perceptions.  After  the 
most  accurate  examination  of  which  I  am  capable,  I  ven- 
ture to  affirm,  that  the  rule  here  holds  without  any  ex- 
ception, and  that  every  simple  idea  has  a  simple  impres- 
sion, which  resembles  it,  and  every  simple  impression  a 
correspondent  idea.  That  idea  of  red,  which  we  form  in 
the  dark,  and  that  impression  which  strikes  our  eyes  in 
sunshine,  differ  only  in  degree,  not  in  nature.  That  the 
case  is  the  same  with  all  our  simple  impressions  and  ideas, 
it  is  impossible  to  prove  by  a  particular  enumeration  of 
them.     Every  one  may  satisfy  himself  in  this  point  by 

vol.  i.  2 


18  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

running  over  as  many  as  he  pleases.  But  if  any  one 
should  deny  this  universal  resemblance,  I  know  no  way 
of  convincing  him,  but  by  desiring  him  to  show  a  simple 
impression  that  has  not  a  correspondent  idea,  or  a  simple 
idea  that  has  not  a  correspondent  impression.  If  he  does 
not  answer  this  challenge,  as  it  is  certain  he  cannot,  we 
may,  from  his  silence  and  our  own  observation,  establish 
our  conclusion. 

Thus  we  find,  that  all  simple  ideas  and  impressions 
resemble  each  other ;  and,  as  the  complex  are  formed 
from  them,  we  may  affirm  in  general,  that  these  two 
species  of  perception  are  exactly  correspondent.  Hav- 
ing discovered  this  relation,  which  requires  no  further 
examination,  I  am  curious  to  find  some  other  of  their 
qualities.  Let  us  consider,  how  they  stand  with  regard 
to  their  existence,  and  which  of  the  impressions  and  ideas 
are  causes,  and  which  effects. 

The  full  examination  of  this  question  is  the  subject  of 
the  present  treatise ;  and,  therefore,  we  shall  here  con- 
tent ourselves  with  establishing  one  general  proposition, 
That  all  our  simple  ideas  in  their  first  appearance,  are  derived 
from  simple  impressions,  which  are  correspondent  to  them,  and 
ivhich  they  exactly  represent. 

In  seeking  for  phenomena  to  prove  this  proposition,  I 
find  only  those  of  two  kinds ;  but,  in  each  kind  the  phe- 
nomena are  obvious,  numerous,  and  conclusive.  I  first 
make  myself  certain,  by  a  new  review,  of  what  I  have 
already  asserted,  that  every  simple  impression  is  attend- 
ed with  a  correspondent  idea,  and  every  simple  idea  with 
a  correspondent  impression.  From  this  constant  con- 
junction of  resembling  perceptions  I  immediately  con- 
clude, that  there  is  a  great  connection  betwixt  our  cor- 
respondent impressions  and  ideas,  and  that  the  existence 
of  the  one  has  a  considerable  influence  upon  that  of  the 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  19 

other.  Such  a  constant  conjunction,  in  such  an  infinite 
number  of  instances,  can  never  arise  from  chance ;  but 
clearly  proves  a  dependence  of  the  impressions  on  the 
ideas,  or  of  the  ideas  on  the  impressions.  That  I  may 
know  on  which  side  this  dependence  lies,  I  consider  the 
order  of  their  first  appearance ;  and  find,  by  constant  ex- 
perience, that  the  simple  impressions  always  take  the 
precedence  of  their  correspondent  ideas,  but  never  ap- 
pear in  the  contrary  order.  To  give  a  child  an  idea  of 
scarlet  or  orange,  of  sweet  or  bitter,  I  present  the  objects, 
or,  in  other  words,  convey  to  him  these  impressions ;  but 
proceed  not  so  absurdly,  as  to  endeavor  to  produce  the 
impressions  by  exciting  the  ideas.  Our  ideas,  upon  their 
appearance,  produce  not  their  correspondent  impressions, 
nor  do  we  perceive  any  color,  or  feel  any  sensation  mere- 
ly upon  thinking  of  them.  On  the  other  hand  we  find, 
that  any  impression,  either  of  the  mind  or  body,  is  con- 
stantly followed  by  an  idea,  which  resembles  it,  and  is 
only  different  in  the  degrees  of  force  and  liveliness.  The 
constant  conjunction  of  our  resembling  perceptions,  is  a 
convincing  proof,  that  the  one  are  the  causes  of  the 
other ;  and  this  priority  of  the  impressions  is  an  equal 
proof,  that  our  impressions  are  the  causes  of  our  ideas, 
not  our  ideas  of  our  impressions. 

To  confirm  this,  I  consider  another  plain  and  convinc- 
ing phenomenon ;  which  is,  that  wherever,  by  any  acci- 
dent, the  faculties  which  give  rise  to  any  impressions  are 
obstructed  in  their  operations,  as  when  one  is  born  blind 
or  deaf,  not  only  the  impressions  are  lost,  but  also  their 
correspondent  ideas ;  so  that  there  never  appear  in  the 
mind  the  least  traces  of  either  of  them.  Nor  is  this  only 
true,  where  the  organs  of  sensation  are  entirely  de- 
stroyed, but  likewise  where  they  have  never  been  put  in 
action  to  produce  a  particular  impression.     We  cannot 


20  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

form  to  ourselves  a  just  idea  of  the  taste  of  a  pine-apple, 
without  having  actually  tasted  it. 

There  is,  however,  one  contradictory  phenomenon, 
which  may  prove,  that  it  is  not  absolutely  impossible  for 
ideas  to  go  before  their  correspondent  impressions.  I 
believe  it  will  readily  be  allowed,  that  the  several  distinct 
ideas  of  colors,  which  enter  by  the  eyes,  or  those  of 
sounds,  which  are  conveyed  by  the  hearing,  are  really 
different  from  each  other,  though,  at  the  stfme  time,  re- 
sembling. Now,  if  this  be  true  of  different  colors,  it  must 
be  no  less  so  of  the  different  shades  of  the  same  color, 
that  each  of  them  produces  a  distinct  idea,  independent 
of  the  rest.  For  if  this  should  be  denied,  it  is  possible, 
by  the  continual  gradation  of  shades,  to  run  a  color  in- 
sensibly into  what  is  most  remote  from  it ;  and,  if  you 
will  not  allow  any  of  the  means  to  be  different,  you  can- 
not, without  absurdity,  deny  the  extremes  to  be  the 
same.  Suppose,  therefore,  a  person  to  have  enjoyed  his 
sight  for  thirty  years,  and  to  have  become  perfectly  well 
acquainted  with  colors  of  all  kinds,  excepting  one  par- 
ticular shade  of  blue,  for  instance,  which  it  never  has 
been  his  fortune  to  meet  with.  Let  all  the  different 
shades  of  that  color,  except  that  single  one,  be  placed 
before  him,  descending  gradually  from  the  deepest  to  the 
lightest ;  it  is  plain,  that  he  will  perceive  a  blank,  where 
that  shade  is  wanting,  and  will  be  sensible  that  there  is  a 
greater  distance  in  that  place,  betwixt  the  contiguous 
colors,  than  in  any  other.  Now  I  ask,  whether  it  is  possi- 
ble for  him,  from  his  own  imagination,  to  supply  this  de- 
ficiency, and  raise  up  to  himself  the  idea  of  that  particu- 
lar shade,  though  it  had  never  been  conveyed  to  him  by 
his  senses  ?  I  believe  there  are  few  but  will  be  of  opin- 
ion that  he  can ;  and  this  may  serve  as  a  proof,  that  the 
simple  ideas  are  not  always  derived  from   the   corre 


OP    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  21 

spondent  impressions  ;  though  the  instance  is  so  particu- 
lar and  singular,  that  it  is  scarce  worth  our  observing,  and 
does  not  merit  that,  for  it  alone,  we  should  alter  our  gen- 
eral maxim. 

But,  besides  this  exception,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to 
remark,  on  this  head,  that  the  principle  of  the  priority 
of  impressions  to  ideas,  must  be  understood  with  another 
limitation,  viz.  that  as  our  ideas  are  images  of  our  im- 
pressions, so  we  can  form  secondary  ideas,  which  are 
images  of  the  primary,  as  appears  from  this  very  rea- 
soning concerning  them.  This  is  not,  properly  speak- 
ing, an  exception  to  the  rule  so  much  as  an  explanation 
of  it.  Ideas  produce  the  images  of  themselves  in  new 
ideas ;  but  as  the  first  ideas  are  supposed  to  be  derived 
from  impressions,  it  still  remains  true,  that  all  our  simple 
ideas  proceed,  either  mediately  or  immediately,  from 
their  correspondent  impressions. 

This,  then,  is  the  first  principle  I  establish  in  the 
science  of  human  nature  ;  nor  ought  we  to  despise  it 
because  of  the  simplicity  of  its  appearance.  For  it  is 
remarkable,  that  the  present  question  concerning  the 
precedency  of  our  impressions  or  ideas,  is  the  same 
with  what  has  made  so  much  noise  in  other  terms, 
when  it  has  been  disputed  whether  there  be  any  innate 
ideas,  or  whether  all  ideas  be  derived  from  sensation  and 
reflection.  We  may  observe,  that  in  order  to  prove  the 
ideas  of  extension  and  color  not  to  be  innate,  philoso- 
phers do  nothing  but  show  that  they  are  conveyed  by 
our  senses.  To  prove  the  ideas  of  passion  and  desire  not 
to  be  innate,  they  observe,  that  we  have  a  preceding 
experience  of  these  emotions  in  ourselves.  Now,  if  we 
carefully  examine  these  arguments,  we  shall  find  that 
they  prove  nothing  but  that  ideas  are  preceded  by  other 
more  lively  perceptions,  from  which  they  are  derived, 

2* 


22  OF   THE  UNDERSTANDING 

and  which  they  represent.  I  hope  this  clear  stating  of 
the  question  will  remove  all  disputes  concerning  it,  and 
will  render  this  principle  of  more  use  in  our  reasonings, 
than  it  seems  hitherto  to  have  been. 


SECTION  II. 

DIVISION    OF   THE   SUBJECT. 

Since  it  appears,  that  our  simple  impressions  are  prior 
to  their  correspondent  ideas,  and  that  the  exceptions  are 
very  rare,  method  seems  to  require  we  should  examine 
our  impressions  before  we  consider  our  ideas.  Impres- 
sions may  be  divided  into  two  kinds,  those  of  sensation, 
and  those  of  reflection.  The  first  kind  arises  in  the  soul 
originally,  from  unknown  causes.  The  second  is  de- 
rived, in  a  great  measure,  from  our  ideas,  and  that  in  the 
following  order.  An  impression  first  strikes  upon  the 
senses,  and  makes  us  perceive  heat  or  cold,  thirst  or 
hunger,  pleasure  or  pain,  of  some  kind  or  other.  Of 
this  impression  there  is  a  copy  taken  by  the  mind,  which 
remains  after  the  impression  ceases ;  and  this  we  call  an 
idea.  This  idea  of  pleasure  or  pain,  when  it  returns 
upon  the  soul,  produces  the  new  impressions  of  desire 
and  aversion,  hope  and  fear,  which  may  properly  be 
called  impressions  of  reflection,  because  derived  from  it. 
These  again  are  copied  by  the  memory  and  imagination, 
and  become  ideas :  which,  perhaps,  in  their  turn,  give 
rise  to  other  impressions  and  ideas ;  so  that  the  impres- 
sions of  reflection  are  not  only  antecedent  to  their  corre- 
spondent ideas,  but  posterior  to  those  of  sensation,  and 
derived  from  them.  The  examination  of  our  sensations 
belongs  more  to  anatomists  and  natural  philosophers 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  23 

than  to  moral ;  and,  therefore,  shall  not  at  present  be 
entered  upon..  And,  as  the  impressions  of  reflection, 
viz.  passions,  desires,  and  emotions,  which  principally 
deserve  our  attention,  arise  mostly  from  ideas,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  reverse  that  method,  which  at  first  sight 
seems  most  natural ;  and,  in  order  to  explain  the  nature 
and  principles  of  the  human  mind,  give  a  particular 
account  of  ideas,  before  we  proceed  to  impressions. 
For  this  reason,  I  have  here  chosen  to  begin  with 
ideas. 


SECTION  III. 

OF   THE   IDEAS    OF   THE   MEMORY    AND    IMAGINATION. 

We  find,  by  experience,  that  when  any  impression 
has  been  present  with  the  mind,  it  again  makes  its 
appearance  there  as  an  idea ;  and  this  it  may  do  after 
two  different  ways :  either  when,  in  its  new  appearance, 
it  retains  a  considerable  degree  of  its  first  vivacity,  and 
is  somewhat  intermediate  betwixt  an  impression  and  an 
idea ;  or  when  it  entirely  loses  that  vivacity,  and  is  a 
perfect  idea.  The  faculty  by  which  we  repeat  our  im- 
pressions in  the  first  manner,  is  called  the  memory,  and 
the  other  the  imagination.  It  is  evident,  at  first  sight, 
that  the  ideas  of  the  memory  are  much  more  lively  and 
strong  than  those  of  the  imagination,  and  that  the  for- 
mer faculty  paints  its  objects  in  more  distinct  colors 
than  any  which  are  employed  by  the  latter.  When  we 
remember  any  past  event,  the  idea  of  it  flows  in  upon 
the  mind  in  a  forcible  manner ;  whereas,  in  the  imagi- 
nation, the  perception  is  faint  and  languid,  and  cannot, 
without  difficulty,  be  preserved  by  the  mind  steady  and 


24  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

uniform  for  any  considerable  time.  Here,  then,  is  a 
sensible  difference  betwixt  one  species  of  ideas  and 
another.     But  of  this  more  fully  hereafter  * 

There  is  another  difference  betwixt  these  two  kinds  of 
ideas,  which  is  no  less  evident,  namely,  that  though 
neither  the  ideas  of  the  memory  nor  imagination,  neither 
the  lively  nor  faint  ideas,  can  make  their  appearance  in 
the  mind,  unless  their  correspondent  impressions  have 
gone  before  to  prepare  the  way  for  them,  yet  the  im- 
agination is  not  restrained  to  the  same  order  and  form 
with  the  original  impressions ;  while  the  memory  is  in  a 
manner  tied  down  in  that  respect,  without  any  power  of 
variation. 

It  is  evident,  that  the  memory  preserves  the  original 
for;  in  which  its  objects  were  presented,  and  that 
wherever  we  depart  from  it  in  recollecting  any  thing, 
it  proceeds  from  some  defect  or  imperfection  in  that 
faculty.  An  historian  may,  perhaps,  for  the  more  con- 
venient carrying  on  of  his  narration,  relate  an  event 
before  another  to  which  it  was  in  fact  posterior ;  but 
then,  he  takes  notice  of  this  disorder,  if  he  be  exact ; 
and,  by  that  means,  replaces  the  idea  in  its  due  position. 
It  is  the  same  case  in  our  recollection  of  those  places 
and  persons,  with  which  we  were  formerly  acquainted. 
The  chief  exercise  of  the  memory  is  not  to  preserve  the 
simple  ideas,  but  their  order  and  position.  In  short,  this 
principle  is  supported  by  such  a  number  of  common  and 
vulgar  phenomena,  that  we  may  spare  ourselves  the 
trouble  of  insisting  on  it  any  further. 

The  same  evidence  follows  us  in  our  second  principle, 
of  the  liberty  of  the  imagination  to  transpose  and  change  its 
ideas.     The  fables  we  meet  with  in  poems  and  romances 

*  Part  III.  Sect  5. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  25 

put  this  entirely  out  of  question.  Nature  there  is  totally 
confounded,  and  nothing  mentioned  but  winged  horses, 
fiery  dragons,  and  monstrous  giants.  Nor  will  this 
liberty  of  the  fancy  appear  strange,  when  we  consider 
that  all  our  ideas  are  copied  from  our  impressions,  and 
that  there  are  not  any  two  impressions  which  are  per- 
fectly inseparable.  Not  to  mention,  that  this  is  an 
evident  consequence  of  the  division  of  ideas  into  simple 
and  complex.  Wherever  the  imagination  perceives  a  dif- 
ference among  ideas,  it  can  easily  produce  a  separation. 


SECTION  IV. 

OF   THE   CONNECTION   OR   ASSOCIATION   OF   IDEAS. 

As  all  simple  ideas  may  be  separated  by  the  imagina- 
tion, and  may  be  united  again  in  what  form  it  pleases, 
nothing  would  be  more  unaccountable  than  the  opera- 
tions of  that  faculty,  were  it  not  guided  by  some  uni- 
versal principles,  which  render  it,  in  some  measure, 
uniform  with  itself  in  all  times  and  places.  "Were  ideas 
entirely  loose  and  unconnected,  chance  alone  would  join 
them  ;  and  it  is  impossible  the  same  simple  ideas  should 
fall  regularly  into  complex  ones  (as  they  commonly  do), 
without  some  bond  of  union  among  them,  some  associat- 
ing quality,  by  which  one  idea  naturally  introduces 
another.  This  uniting  principle  among  ideas  is  not  to 
be  considered  as  an  inseparable  connection;  for  that 
has  been  already  excluded  from  the  imagination :  nor 
yet  are  we  to  conclude,  that  without  it  the  mind  cannot 
join  two  ideas;  for  nothing  is  more  free  than  that 
faculty :  but  we  are  only  to  regard  it  as  a  gentle  force, 
which  commonly  prevails,  and  is  the  cause  why,  among 


26  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

other  things,  languages  so  nearly  correspond  to  each 
other ;  Nature,  in  a  manner,  pointing  out  to  every  one 
those  simple  ideas,  which  are  most  proper  to  be  united 
into  a  complex  one.  The  qualities,  from  which  this 
association  arises,  and  by  which  the  mind  is,  after  this 
manner,  conveyed  from  one  idea  to  another,  are  three, 
viz.  resemblance,  contiguity  in  time  or  place,  and  cause  and 
effect. 

I  believe  it  will  not  be  very  necessary  to  prove,  that 
these  qualities  produce  an  association  among  ideas,  and, 
upon  the  appearance  of  one  idea,  naturally  introduce 
another.  It  is  plain,  that,  in  the  course  of  our  thinking, 
and  in  the  constant  revolution  of  our  ideas,  our  imagina- 
tion runs  easily  from  one  idea  to  any  other  that  resembles 
it,  and  that  this  quality  alone  is  to  the  fancy  a  sufficient 
bond  and  association.  It  is  likewise  evident,  that  as  the 
senses,  in  changing  their  objects,  are  necessitated  to 
change  them  regularly,  and  take  them  as  they  lie  contigu- 
ous to  each  other,  the  imagination  must,  by  long  custom, 
acquire  the  same  method  of  thinking,  and  run  along  the 
parts  of  space  and  time  in  conceiving  its  objects.  As  to 
the  connection  that  is  made  by  the  relation  of  cause  and 
effect,  we  shall  have  occasion  afterwards  to  examine  it  to 
the  bottom,  and  therefore  shall  not  at  present  insist  upon 
it.  It  is  sufficient  to  observe,  that  there  is  no  relation, 
which  produces  a  stronger  connection  in  the  fancy,  and 
makes  one  idea  more  readily  recall  another,  than  the 
relation  of  cause  and  effect  betwixt  their  objects. 

That  we  may  understand  the  full  extent  of  these 
relations,  we  must  consider,  that  two  objects  are  con- 
nected together  in  the  imagination,  not  only  when  the 
one  is  immediately  resembling,  contiguous  to,  or  the 
cause  of  the  other,  but  also  when  there  is  interposed 
betwixt  them  a  third  object,  which  bears  to  both  of  them 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  27 

any  of  these  relations.  This  may  be  carried  on  to  a 
great  length ;  though,  at  the  same  time  we  may  observe, 
that  each  remove  considerably  weakens  the  relation. 
Cousins  in  the  fourth  degree  are  connected  by  causa- 
tion,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  use  that  term ;  but  not  so 
closely  as  brothers,  much  less  as  child  and  parent.  In 
general,  we  may  observe,  that  all  the  relations  of  blood 
depend  upon  cause  and  effect,  and  are  esteemed  near  or 
remote,  according  to  the  number  of  connecting  causes 
interposed  betwixt  the  persons. 

Of  the  three  relations  above  mentioned,  this  of  causa- 
tion is  the  most  extensive.  Two  objects  may  be  con- 
sidered as  placed  in  this  relation,  as  well  when  one  is 
the  cause  of  any  of  the  actions  or  motions  of  the  other, 
as  when  the  former  is  the  cause  of  the  existence  of  the 
latter.  For  as  that  action  or  motion  is  nothing  but  the 
object  itself,  considered  in  a  certain  light,  and  as  the 
object  continues  the  same  in  all  its  different  situations, 
it  is  easy  to  imagine  how  such  an  influence  of  objects 
upon  one  another  may  connect  them  in  the  imagination. 

We  may  carry  this  further,  and  remark,  not  only  that 
two  objects  are  connected  by  the  relation  of  cause  and 
effect,  when  the  one  produces  a  motion  or  any  action  in 
the  other,  but  also  when  it  has  a  power  of  producing  it. 
And  this  we  may  observe  to  be  the  source  of  all  the 
relations  of  interest  and  duty,  by  which  men  influence 
each  other  in  society,  and  are  placed  in  the  ties  of 
government  and  subordination.  A  master  is  such  a  one 
as,  by  his  situation,  arising  either  from  force  or  agree- 
ment, has  a  power  of  directing  in  certain  particulars  the 
actions  of  another,  whom  we  call  servant.  A  judge  is 
one,  who,  in  all  disputed  cases,  can  fix  by  his  opinion  the 
possession  or  property  of  any  thing  betwixt  any  mem- 


28  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

bers  of  the  society.  When  a  person  is  possessed  of  any 
power,  there  is  no  more  required  to  convert  it  into 
action,  but  the  exertion  of  the  will ;  and  that  in  every 
case  is  considered  as  possible,  and  in  many  as  probable ; 
especially  in  the  case  of  authority,  where  the  obedience 
of  the  subject  is  a  pleasure  and  advantage  to  the  supe- 
rior. 

These  are,  therefore,  the  principles  of  union  or  cohe- 
sion among  our  simple  ideas,  and  in  the  imagination 
supply  the  place  of  that  inseparable  connection,  by 
which  they  are  united  in  our  memory.  Here  is  a  kind 
of  attraction .,  wThich  in  the  mental  world  will  be  found  to 
have  as  extraordinary  effects  as  in  the  natural,  and  to 
show  itself  in  as  many  and  as  various  forms.  Its  effects 
are  everywhere  conspicuous ;  but,  as  to  its  causes,  they 
are  mostly  unknown,  and  must  be  resolved  into  original 
qualities  of  human  nature,  which  I  pretend  not  to  ex- 
plain. Nothing  is  more  requisite  for  a  true  philosopher, 
than  to  restrain  the  intemperate  desire  of  searching  into 
causes;  and,  having  established  any  doctrine  upon  a 
sufficient  number  of  experiments,  rest  contented  with 
that,  when  he  sees  a  further  examination  would  lead 
him  into  obscure  and  uncertain  speculations.  In  that 
case  his  inquiry  would  be  much  better  employed  in 
examining  the  effects  than  the  causes  of  his  principle. 

Amongst  the  effects  of  this  union  or  association  of 
ideas,  there  are  none  more  remarkable  than  those  com- 
plex ideas,  which  are  the  common  subjects  of  our 
thoughts  and  reasoning,  and  generally  arise  from  some 
principle  of  union  among  our  simple  ideas.  These  com- 
plex ideas  may  be  divided  into  relations,  modes,  and  sub- 
stances. We  shall  briefly  examine  each  of  these  in  order, 
and  shall  subjoin  some  considerations  concerning  our 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  29 

general  and  particular  ideas,  before  we  leave  the  present 
subject,  which  may  be  considered  as  the  elements  of  this 
philosophy. 


SECTION   V. 

OF    RELATIONS. 

The  word  relation  is  commonly  used  in  two  senses  con- 
siderably different  from  each  other.  Either  for  that 
quality,  by  which  two  ideas  are  connected  together  in 
the  imagination,  and  the  one  naturally  introduces  the 
other,  after  the  manner  above  explained;  or  for  that 
particular  circumstance,  in  which,  even  upon  the  arbi- 
trary union  of  two  ideas  in  the  fancy,  we  may  think 
proper  to  compare  them.  In  common  language,  the 
former  is  always  the  sense  in  which  we  use  the  word 
relation ;  and  it  is  only  in  philosophy  that  we  extend  it 
to  mean  any  particular  subject  of  comparison,  without  a 
connecting  principle.  Thus,  distance  will  be  allowed  by 
philosophers  to  be  a  true  relation,  because  we  acquire  an 
idea  of  it  by  the  comparing  of  objects :  but  in  a  com- 
mon way  we  say,  that  nothing  can  he  more  distant  than  such 
or  such  things  from  each  other,  nothing  can  have  less  relation  ; 
as  if  distance  and  relation  were  incompatible. 

It  may,  perhaps,  be  esteemed  an  endless  task  to  enu- 
merate all  those  qualities,  which  make  objects  admit  of 
comparison,  and  by  which  the  ideas  of  philosophical  rela- 
tion are  produced.  But  if  we  diligently  consider  them 
we  shall  find,  that  without  difficulty  they  may  be  com- 
prised under  seven  general  heads,  which  may  be  consid- 
ered as  the  sources  of  all  philosophical  relation. 

1.  The  first  is  resemblance :  and  this  is  a  relation,  with- 

vol.  i.  3 


30  OF  THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

out  which  no  philosophical  relation  can  exist,  since  no 
objects  will  admit  of  comparison,  but  what  have  some 
degree  of  resemblance.  But  though  resemblance  be 
necessary  to  all  philosophical  relation,  it  does  not  follow 
that  it  always  produces  a  connection  or  association  of 
ideas.  When  a  quality  becomes  very  general,  and  is 
common  to  a  great  many  individuals,  it  leads  not  the 
mind  directly  to  any  one  of  them  •  but,  by  presenting  at 
once  too  great  a  choice,  does  thereby  prevent  the  imagi- 
nation from  fixing  on  any  single  object. 

2.  Identity  may  be  esteemed  a  second  species  of  rela- 
tion. This  relation  I  here  consider  as  applied  in  its 
strictest  sense  to  constant  and  unchangeable  objects; 
without  examining  the  nature  and  foundation  of  per- 
sonal identity,  which  shall  find  its  place  afterwards.  Of 
all  relations  the  most  universal  is  that  of  identity,  being 
common  to  every  being,  whose  existence  has  any  dura- 
tion. 

3.  After  identity  the  most  universal  and  comprehen- 
sive relations  are  those  of  space  and  time,  which  are  the 
sources  of  an  infinite  number  of  comparisons,  such  as 
distant,  contiguous,  above,  beloiv,  before,  after,  &c. 

4.  All  those  objects,  which  admit  of  quantity  or  number, 
may  be  compared  in  that  particular,  which  is  another 
very  fertile  source  of  relation. 

5.  When  any  two  objects  possess  the  same  quality  in 
common,  the  degrees  in  which  they  possess  it  form  a  fifth 
species  of  relation.  Thus,  of  two  objects  which  are  both 
heavy,  the  one  may  be  either  of  greater  or  less  weight 
than  the  other.  Two  colors,  that  are  of  the  same  kind, 
may  yet  be  of  different  shades,  and  in  that  respect  admit 
of  comparison. 

6.  The  relation  of  contrariety  may  at  first  sight  be 
regarded  as  an  exception  to  the  rule,  that  no  relation  of 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  31 

any  kind  can  subsist  without  some  degree  of  resemblance.  But 
let  us  consider,  that  no  two  ideas  are  in  themselves  con- 
trary, except  those  of  existence  and  non-existence,  which 
are  plainly  resembling,  as  implying  both  of  them  an  idea 
of  the  object ;  though  the  latter  excludes  the  object 
from  all  times  and  places,  in  which  it  is  supposed  not  to 
exist. 

7.  All  other  objects,  such  as  fire  and  water,  heat  and 
cold,  are  only  found  to  be  contrary  from  experience,  and 
from  the  contrariety  of  their  causes  or  effects;  which 
relation  of  cause  and  effect  is  a  seventh  philosophical 
relation,  as  well  as  a  natural  one.  The  resemblance  im- 
plied in  this  relation  shall  be  explained  afterwards. 

It  might  naturally  be  expected  that  I  should  join 
difference  to  the  other  relations;  but  that  I  consider 
rather  as  a  negation  of  relation  than  as  any  thing  real 
or  positive.  Difference  is  of  two  kinds,  as  opposed  either 
to  identity  or  resemblance.  The  first  is  called  a  differ- 
ence of  number  ;  the  other  of  kind. 


SECTION   VI. 

OF   MODES    AND    SUBSTANCES. 

I  would  fain  ask  those  philosophers,  who  found  so 
much  of  their  reasonings  on  the  distinction  of  substance 
and  accident,  and  imagine  we  have  clear  ideas  of  each, 
whether  the  idea  of  substance  be  derived  from  the  im- 
pressions of  sensation  or  reflection  ?  If  it  be  conveyed 
to  us  by  our  senses,  I  ask,  which  of  them,  and  after 
what  manner?  If  it  be  perceived  by  the  eyes,  it  must 
be  a  color;  if  by  the  ears,  a  sound;  if  by  the  palate,  a 
taste ;  and  so  of  the  other  senses.     But  I  believe  none 


32  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

will  assert,  that  substance  is  either  a  color,  or  sound,  or 
a  taste.  The  idea  of  substance  must,  therefore,  be  de- 
rived from  an  impression  of  reflection,  if  it  really  exist. 
But  the  impressions  of  reflection  resolve  themselves  into 
our  passions  and  emotions ;  none  of  which  can  possibly 
represent  a  substance.  We  have,  therefore,  no  idea  of 
substance,  distinct  from  that  of  a  collection  of  particular 
qualities,  nor  have  we  any  other  meaning  when  we  either 
talk  or  reason  concerning  it. 

The  idea  of  a  substance  as  well  as  that  of  a  mode,  is 
nothing  but  a  collection  of  simple  ideas,  that  are  united 
by  the  imagination,  and  have  a  particular  name  assigned 
them,  by  which  we  are  able  to  recall,  either  to  ourselves 
or  others,  that  collection.  But  the  difference  betwixt 
these  ideas  consists  in  this,  that  the  particular  qualities, 
which  form  a  substance,  are  commonly  referred  to  an 
unknown  something,  in  which  they  are  supposed  to  inhere ; 
or  granting  this  fiction  should  not  take  place,  are  at  least 
supposed  to  be  closely  and  inseparably  connected  by  the 
relations  of  contiguity  and  causation.  The  effect  of  this 
is,  that  whatever  new  simple  quality  we  discover  to  have 
the  same  connection  with  the  rest,  we  immediately  com- 
prehend it  among  them,  even  though  it  did  not  enter 
into  the  first  conception  of  the  substance.  Thus  our 
idea  of  gold  may  at  first  be  a  yellow  color,  weight,  mal- 
leableness,  fusibility ;  but  upon  the  discovery  of  its  disso- 
lubility in  aqua  rcgia,  we  join  that  to  the  other  qualities, 
and  suppose  it  to  belong  to  the  substance  as  much  as  if  its 
idea  had  from  the  beginning  made  a  part  of  a  compound 
one.  The  principle  of  union  being  regarded  as  the  chief 
part  of  the  complex  idea,  gives  entrance  to  whatever 
quality  afterwards  occurs,  and  is  equally  comprehended 
by  it,  as  are  the  others,  which  first  presented  themselves. 

That  this  cannot  take  place  in  modes,  is  evident  from 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  33 

considering  their  nature.  The  simple  ideas  of  which 
modes  are  formed,  either  represent  qualities,  which  are 
not  united  by  contiguity  and  causation,  but  are  dispersed 
in  different  subjects ;  or  if  they  be  all  united  together, 
the  uniting  principle  is  not  regarded  as  the  foundation 
of  the  complex  idea.  The  idea  of  a  dance  is  an  instance 
of  the  first  kind  of  modes ;  that  of  beauty  of  the  sec- 
ond. The  reason  is  obvious,  why  such  complex  ideas 
cannot  receive  any  new  idea,  without  changing  the  name, 
which  distinguishes  the  mode. 


SECTION  VII. 

OF   ABSTRACT   IDEAS. 

A  very  material  question  has  been  started  concerning 
abstract  or  general  ideas,  whether  they  be  general  or  'particu- 
lar in  the  mind's  conception  of  them.  A  great  philosopher  * 
has  disputed  the  received  opinion  in  this  particular,  and 
has  asserted,  that  all  general  ideas  are  nothing  but  par- 
ticular ones  annexed  to  a  certain  term,  which  gives  them 
a  more  extensive  signification,  and  makes  them  recall 
upon  occasion  other  individuals,  which  are  similar  to 
them.  As  I  look  upon  this  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  and 
most  valuable  discoveries  that  has  been  made  of  late 
years  in  the  republic  of  letters,  I  shall  here  endeavor  to 
confirm  it  by  some  arguments,  which  I  hope  will  put  it 
beyond  all  doubt  and  controversy. 

It  is  evident,  that,  in  forming  most  of  our  general  ideas, 
if  not  all  of  them,  we  abstract  from  every  particular  de- 
gree of  quantity  and  quality,  and  that  an  object  ceases 

*  Dr,  Berkeley, 

3* 


34  OP    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

not  to  be  of  any  particular  species  on  account  of  every 
small  alteration  in  its  extension,  duration,  and  other 
properties.  It  may,  therefore,  be  thought,  that  here  is  a 
plain  dilemma,  that  decides  concerning  the  nature  of 
those  abstract  ideas,  which  have  afforded  so  much  spec- 
ulation to  philosophers.  The  abstract  idea  of  a  man  rep- 
resents men  of  all  sizes  and  all  qualities,  which  it  is  con- 
cluded it  cannot  do,  but  either  by  representing  at  once  all 
possible  sizes  and  all  possible  qualities,  or  by  representing 
no  particular  one  at  all.  Now,  it  having  been  esteemed  ab- 
surd to  defend  the  former  proposition,  as  implying  an  in- 
finite capacity  in  the  mind,  it  has  been  commonly  inferred 
in  favor  of  the  latter ;  and  our  abstract  ideas  have  been 
supposed  to  represent  no  particular  degree  either  of 
quantity  or  quality.  But  that  this  inference  is  errone- 
ous, I  shall  endeavor  to  make  appear,  first,  by  proving, 
that  it  is  utterly  impossible  to  conceive  any  quantity  or 
quality,  without  forming  a  precise  notion  of  its  degrees ; 
and,  secondly,  by  showing,  that  though  the  capacity  of  the 
mind  be  not  infinite,  yet  we  can  at  once  form  a  notion 
of  all  possible  degrees  of  quantity  and  quality,  in  such  a 
manner  at  least,  as,  however  imperfect,  may  serve  all  the 
purposes  of  reflection  and  conversation. 

To  begin  with  the  first  proposition,  that  the  mind  cannot 
form  any  notion  of  quantity  or  quality  tvithont  forming  a  pre- 
cise notion  of  degrees  of  each,  we  may  prove  this  by  the 
three  following  arguments.  First,  we  have  observed, 
that  whatever  objects  are  different  are  distinguishable, 
and  that  whatever  objects  are  distinguishable  are  separa- 
ble by  the  thought  and  imagination.  And  we  may  here 
add,  that  these  propositions  are  equally  true  in  the  in- 
verse, and  that  whatever  objects  are  separable  are  also 
distinguishable,  and  that  whatever  objects  are  distin- 
guishable are  also  different.     For  how  is  it  possible  we 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  35 

can  separate  what  is  not  distinguishable,  or  distinguish 
what  is  not  different  ?  In  order,  therefore,  to  know 
whether  abstraction  implies  a  separation,  we  need  only 
consider  it  in  this  view,  and  examine,  whether  all  the 
circumstances,  which  we  abstract  from  in  our  general 
ideas,  be  such  as  are  distinguishable  and  different  from 
those,  which  we  retain  as  essential  parts  of  them.  But 
it  is  evident  at  first  sight,  that  the  precise  length  of  a 
line  is  not  different  nor  distinguishable  from  the  line  it- 
self; nor  the  precise  degree  of  any  quality  from  the 
quality.  These  ideas,  therefore,  admit  no  more  of  sep- 
aration than  they  do  of  distinction  and  difference.  They 
are,  consequently,  conjoined  with  each  other  in  the  con- 
ception ;  and  the  general  idea  of  a  line,  notwithstanding 
all  our  abstractions  and  refinements,  has,  in  its  appear- 
ance in  the  mind,  a  precise  degree  of  quantity  and  qual- 
ity ;  however  it  may  be  made  to  represent  others  which 
have  different  degrees  of  both. 

Secondly,  it  is  confessed,  that  no  object  can  appear  to 
the  senses;  or  in  other  words,  that  no  impression  can 
become  present  to  the  mind,  without  being  determined 
in  its  degrees  both  of  quantity  and  quality.  The  con- 
fusion, in  which  impressions  are  sometimes  involved,  pro- 
ceeds only  from  their  faintness  and  unsteadiness,  not  from 
any  capacity  in  the  mind  to  receive  any  impression, 
which  in  its  real  existence  has  no  particular  degree  nor 
proportion.  That  is  a  contradiction  in  terms ;  and  even 
implies  the  flattest  of  all  contradictions,  viz.  that  it  is 
possible  for  the  same  thing  both  to  be  and  not  to  be. 

Now,  since  all  ideas  are  derived  from  impressions,  and 
are  nothing  but  copies  and  representations  of  them, 
whatever  is  true  of  the  one  must  be  acknowledged  con- 
cerning the  other.  Impressions  and  ideas  differ  only  in 
their  strength  and  vivacity.     The  foregoing  conclusion 


36  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

is  not  founded  on  any  particular  degree  of  vivacity.  It 
cannot,  therefore,  be  affected  by  any  variation  in  that- 
particular.  An  idea  is  a  weaker  impression ;  and,  as  a 
strong  impression  must  necessarily  have  a  determinate 
quantity  and  quality,  the  case  must  be  the  same  with  its 
copy  or  representative. 

Thirdly,  it  is  a  principle  generally  received  in  philoso- 
phy, that  every  thing  in  nature  is  individual,  and  that 
it  is  utterly  absurd  to  suppose  a  triangle  really  existent, 
which  has  no  precise  proportion  of  sides  and  angles.  If 
this,  therefore,  be  absurd  in  fact  and  reality,  it  must  also 
be  absurd  in  idea  ;  since  nothing  of  which  we  can  form 
a  clear  and  distinct  idea  is  absurd  and  impossible.  But 
to  form  the  idea  of  an  object,  and  to  form  an  idea  simply, 
is  the  same  thing ;  the  reference  of  the  idea  to  an  object 
being  an  extraneous  denomination,  of  which  in  itself  it 
bears  no  mark  or  character.  Now,  as  it  is  impossible  to 
form  an  idea  of  an  object  that  is  possessed  of  quantity 
and  quality,  and  yet  is  possessed  of  no  precise  degree  of 
either,  it  follows,  that  there  is  an  equal  impossibility  of 
forming  an  idea,  that  is  not  limited  and  confined  in  both 
these  particulars.  Abstract  ideas  are,  therefore,  in  them- 
selves individual,  however  they  may  become  general  in 
their  representation.  The  image  in  the  mind  is  only 
that  of  a  particular  object,  though  the  application  of  it 
in  our  reasoning  be  the  same  as  if  it  were  universal. 

This  application  of  ideas,  beyond  their  nature,  pro- 
ceeds from  our  collecting  all  their  possible  degrees  of 
quantity  and  quality  in  such  an  imperfect  manner  as 
may  serve  the  purposes  of  life,  which  is  the  second 
proposition  I  proposed  to  explain.  When  we  have 
found  a  resemblance  *  among  several  objects,  that  often 

*  It  is  evident,  that  even  different  simple  ideas  may  have  a  similarity  or  re- 
semblance to  each  other ;  nor  is  it  necessary,  that  the  point  or  circumstance 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  37 

occur  to  us,  we  apply  the  same  name  to  all  of  them, 
whatever  differences  we  may  observe  in  the  degrees 
of  their  quantity  and  quality,  and  whatever  other 
differences  may  appear  among  them.  After  we  have 
acquired  a  custom  of  this  kind,  the  hearing  of  that 
name  revives  the  idea  of  one  of  these  objects,  and 
makes  the  imagination  conceive  it  with  all  its  particular 
circumstances  and  proportions.  But  as  the  same  word 
is  supposed  to  have  been  frequently  applied  to  other 
individuals,  that  are  different  in  many  respects  from 
that  idea,  which  is  immediately  present  to  the  mind; 
the  word  not  being  able  to  revive  the  idea  of  all  these 
individuals,  only  touches  the  soul,  if  I  may  be  allowed 
so  to  speak,  and  revives  that  custom,  which  we  have 
acquired  by  surveying  them.  They  are  not  really  and 
in  fact  present  to  the  mind,  but  only  in  power ;  nor  do 
we  draw  them  all  out  distinctly  in  the  imagination,  but 
keep  ourselves  in  a  readiness  to  survey  any  of  them,  as 
we  may  be  prompted  by  a  present  design  or  necessity. 
The  word  raises  up  an  individual  idea,  along  with  a  cer- 
tain custom,  and  that  custom  produces  any  other  indi- 
vidual one,  for  which  we  may  have  occasion.  But  as 
the  production  of  all  the  ideas,  to  which  the  name  may 

of  resemblance  should  be  distinct  or  separable  from  that  in  -which  they  differ. 
Blue  and  green  are  different  simple  ideas,  but  are  more  resembling  than  blue 
and  scarlet ;  though  their  perfect  simplicity  excludes  all  possibility  of  separa- 
tion or  distinction.  It  is  the  same  case  with  particular  sounds,  and  tastes,  and 
smells.  These  admit  of  infinite  resemblances  upon  the  general  appearance 
and  comparison,  without  having  any  common  circumstance  the  same.  And  of 
this  we  may  be  certain,  even  from  the  very  abstract  terms  simple  idea.  They 
comprehend  all  simple  ideas  under  them.  These  resemble  each  other  in  their 
simplicity.  And  yet  from  their  very  nature,  which  excludes  all  composition, 
this  circumstance,  in  which  they  resemble,  is  not  distinguishable  or  separable 
from  the  rest.  It  is  the  same  case  with  all  the  degrees  in  any  quality.  They 
are  all  resembling,  and  yet  the  quality,  in  any  individual,  is  not  distinct  from 
the  degree. 


38  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

be  applied,  is  in  most  cases  impossible,  we  abridge  that 
work  by  a  more  partial  consideration,  and  find  but  few 
inconveniences  to  arise  in  our  reasoning  from  that 
abridgment. 

For  this  is  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  circum- 
stances in  the  present  affair,  that  after  the  mind  has  pro- 
duced an  individual  idea,  upon  which  we  reason,  the 
attendant  custom,  revived  by  the  general  or  abstract 
term,  readily  suggests  any  other  individual,  if  by  chance 
we  form  any  reasoning  that  agrees  not  with  it.  Thus, 
should  we  mention  the  word  triangle,  and  form  the  idea 
of  a  particular  equilateral  one  to  correspond  to  it,  and 
should  we  afterwards  assert,  that  the  three  angles  of  a  tri- 
angle are  equal  to  each  other,  the  other  individuals  of  a 
scalenum  and  isosceles,  which  we  overlooked  at  first, 
immediately  crowd  in  upon  us,  and  make  us  perceive 
the  falsehood  of  this  proposition,  though  it  be  true  with 
relation  to  that  idea  which  we  had  formed.  If  the  mind 
suggests  not  always  these  ideas  upon  occasion,  it  pro- 
ceeds from  some  imperfection  in  its  faculties ;  and  such 
a  one  as  is  often  the  source  of  false  reasoning  and  sophis- 
try. But  this  is  principally  the  case  with  those  ideas 
which  are  abstruse  and  compounded.  On  other  occa- 
sions the  custom  is  more  entire,  and  it  is  seldom  we  run 
into  such  errors. 

Nay  so  entire  is  the  custom,  that  the  very  same  idea 
may  be  annexed  to  several  different  words,  and  may  be 
employed  in  different  reasonings,  without  any  danger  of 
mistake.  Thus  the  idea  of  an  equilateral  triangle  of  an 
inch  perpendicular  may  serve  us  in  talking  of  a  figure, 
of  a  rectilineal  figure,  of  a  regular  figure,  of  a  triangle, 
and  of  an  equilateral  triangle.  All  these  terms,  there- 
fore, are  in  this  case  attended  with  the  same  idea ;  but 
as  they  are  wont  to  be  applied  in  a  greater  or  lesser 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  39 

compass,  they  excite  their  particular  habits,  and  thereby 
keep  the  mind  in  a  readiness  to  observe,  that  no  conclu- 
sion be  formed  contrary  to  any  ideas,  which  are  usually 
comprised  under  them. 

Before  those  habits  have  become  entirely  perfect,  per- 
haps the  mind  may  not  be  content  with  forming  the 
idea  of  only  one  individual,  but  may  run  over  several, 
in  order  to  make  itself  comprehend  its  own  meaning, 
and  the  compass  of  that  collection,  which  it  intends  to 
express  by  the  general  term.  That  we  may  fix  the 
meaning  of  the  w^ord,  iigure,  we  may  revolve  in  our 
mind  the  ideas  of  circles,  squares,  parallelograms,  trian- 
gles of  different  sizes  and  proportions,  and  may  not  rest 
on  one  image  or  idea.  However  this  may  be,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  we  form  the  idea  of  individuals  whenever  we 
use  Lany  general  term ;  that  we  seldom  or  never  can 
exhaust  these  individuals ;  and  that  those  which  remain, 
are  only  represented  by  means  of  that  habit  by  which 
we  recall  them,  whenever  any  present  occasion  requires 
it.  This  then  is  the  nature  of  our  abstract  ideas  and 
general  terms ;  and  it  is  after  this  manner  we  account 
for  the  foregoing  paradox,  that  some  ideas  are  particular  in 
their  nature,  but  general  in  their  representation.  A  particular 
idea  becomes  general  by  being  annexed  to  a  general 
term ;  that  is,  to  a  term  which,  from  a  customary  con- 
junction, has  a  relation  to  many  other  particular  ideas, 
and  readily  recalls  them  in  the  imagination. 

The  only  difficulty  that  can  remain  on  this  subject, 
must  be  with  regard  to  that  custom,  which  so  readily 
recalls  every  particular  idea  for  which  we  may  have  oc- 
casion, and  is  excited  by  any  word  or  sound  to  which 
we  commonly  annex  it.  The  most  proper  method,  in 
my  opinion,  of  giving  a  satisfactory  explication  of  this 
act  of  the  mind,  is  by  producing  other  instances  which 


40  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

are  analogous  to  it,  and  other  principles  which  facilitate 
its  operation.  To  explain  the  ultimate  causes  of  our 
mental  actions  is  impossible.  It  is  sufficient  if  we  can 
give  any  satisfactory  account  of  them  from  experience 
and  analogy. 

First,  then,  I  observe,  that  when  we  mention  any 
great  number,  such  as  a  thousand,  the  mind  has  gene- 
rally no  adequate  idea  of  it,  but  only  a  power  of  produc- 
ing such  an  idea,  by  its  adequate  idea  of  the  decimals 
under  which  the  number  is  comprehended.  This  imper- 
fection, however,  in  our  ideas,  is  never  felt  in  our  rea- 
sonings, which  seems  to  be  an  instance  parallel  to  the 
present  one  of  universal  ideas. 

Secondly,  we  have  several  instances  of  habits  which 
may  be  revived  by  one  single  word ;  as  when  a  person 
who  has,  by  rote,  any  periods  of  a  discourse,  or  any 
number  of  verses,  will  be  put  in  remembrance  of  the 
whole,  which  he  is  at  a  loss  to  recollect,  by  that  single 
word  or  expression  with  which  they  begin. 

Thirdly,  I  believe  every  one  who  examines  the  situa- 
tion of  his  mind  in  reasoning,  will  agree  with  me,  that 
we  do  not  annex  distinct  and  complete  ideas  to  every 
term  we  make  use  of,  and  that  in  talking  of  government, 
church,  negotiation,  conquest,  we  seldom  spread  out  in  our 
minds  all  the  simple  ideas  of  which  these  complex  ones 
are  composed.  It  is  however  observable,  that  notwith- 
standing this  imperfection,  we  may  avoid  talking  non- 
sense on  these  subjects,  and  may  perceive  any  repug- 
nance among  the  ideas  as  well  as  if  we  had  a  full 
comprehension  of  them.  Thus,  if  instead  of  saying, 
that  in  ivar  the  weaker  have  alivays  recourse  to  negotiation,  we 
should  say,  that  they  have  always  recourse  to  conquest,  the 
custom  which  we  have  acquired  of  attributing  certain 
relations  to  ideas,  still  follows  the  words,  and  makes  us 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  41 

immediately  perceive  the  absurdity  of  that  proposition ; 
in  the  same  manner  as  one  particular  idea  may  serve  us 
in  reasoning  concerning  other  ideas,  however  different 
from  it  in  several  circumstances. 

Fourthly,  as  the  individuals  are  collected  together, 
and  placed  under  a  general  term  with  a  view  to  that 
resemblance  which  they  bear  to  each  other,  this  relation 
must  facilitate  their  entrance  in  the  imagination,  and 
make  them  be  suggested  more  readily  upon  occasion. 
And,  indeed,  if  we  consider  the  common  progress  of  the 
thought,  either  in  reflection  or  conversation,  we  shall 
find  great  reason  to  be  satisfied  in  this  particular. 
Nothing  is  more  admirable  than  the  readiness  with 
which  the  imagination  suggests  its  ideas,  and  presents 
them  at  the  very  instant  in  which  they  become  neces- 
sary or  useful.  The  fancy  runs  from  one  end  of  the 
universe  to  the  other,  in  collecting  those  ideas  which 
belong  to  any  subject.  One  would  think  the  whole 
intellectual  world  of  ideas  was  at  once  subjected  to  our 
view,  and  that  we  did  nothing  but  pick  out  such  as  were 
most  proper  for  our  purpose.  There  may  not,  however, 
be  any  present,  beside  those  very  ideas,  that  are  thus 
collected  by  a  kind  of  magical  faculty  in  the  soul,  which, 
though  it  be  always  most  perfect  in  the  greatest 
geniuses,  and  is  properly  what  we  call  a  genius,  is  how- 
ever inexplicable  by  the  utmost  efforts  of  human  under- 
standing. 

Perhaps  these  four  reflections  may  help  to  remove  all 
difficulties  to  the  hypothesis  I  have  proposed  concerning 
abstract  ideas,  so  contrary  to  that  which  has  hitherto 
prevailed  in  philosophy.  But  to  tell  the  truth,  I  place 
my  chief  confidence  in  what  I  have  already  proved  con- 
cerning the  impossibility  of  general  ideas,  according  to 
the  common  method  of  explaining   them.      We   must 

VOL.  i.  4 


42  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

certainly  seek  some  new  system  on  this  head,  and  there 
plainly  is  none  beside  what  I  have  proposed.  If  ideas 
be  particular  in  their  nature,  and  at  the  same  time  finite 
in  their  number,  it  is  only  by  custom  they  can  become 
general  in  their  representation,  and  contain  an  infinite 
number  of  other  ideas  under  them. 

Before  I  leave  this  subject,  I  shall  employ  the  same 
principles  to  explain  that  distinction  of  reason,  which  is  so 
much  talked  of,  and  is  so  little  understood  in  the  schools. 
Of  this  kind  is  the  distinction  betwixt  figure  and  the 
body  figured ;  motion  and  the  body  moved.  The  diffi- 
culty of  explaining  this  distinction  arises  from  the  prin- 
ciple above  explained,  that  all  ideas  which  are  different  are 
separable.  For  it  follows  from  thence,  that  if  the  figure 
be  different  from  the  body,  their  ideas  must  be  separa- 
ble as  well  as  distinguishable ;  if  they  be  not  different, 
their  ideas  can  neither  be  separable  nor  distinguishable. 
What  then  is  meant  by  a  distinction  of  reason,  since  it 
implies  neither  a  difference  nor  separation  ? 

To  remove  this  difficulty,  we  must  have  recourse  to 
the  foregoing  explication  of  abstract  ideas.  It  is  certain 
that  the  mind  would  never  have  dreamed  of  distinguish- 
ing a  figure  from  the  body  figured,  as  being  in  reality 
neither  distinguishable,  nor  different,  nor  separable,  did 
it  not  observe,  that  even  in  this  simplicity  there  might 
be  contained  many  different  resemblances  and  relations. 
Thus,  when  a  globe  of  white  marble  is  presented,  we 
receive  only  the  impression  of  a  white  color  disposed  in 
a  certain  form,  nor  are  we  able  to  separate  and  distin- 
guish the  color  from  the  form.  But  observing  after- 
wards a  globe  of  black  marble  and  a  cube  of  white,  and 
comparing  them  with  our  former  object,  we  find  two 
separate  resemblances,  in  what  formerly  seemed,  and 
really  is,  perfectly  inseparable.      After   a   little   more 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  43 

practice  of  this  kind,  we  begin  to  distinguish  the  figure 
from  the  color  by  a  distinction  of  reason ;  that  is,  we  con- 
sider the  figure  and  color  together,  since  they  are,  in 
effect,  the  same  and  undistinguishable  ;  but  still  view 
them  in  different  aspects,  according  to  the  resemblances 
of  which  they  are  susceptible.  When  we  would  consider 
only  the  figure  of  the  globe  of  white  marble,  we  form 
in  reality  an  idea  both  of  the  figure  and  color,  but  tacitly 
carry  our  eye  to  its  resemblance  with  the  globe  of  black 
marble :  and  in  the  same  manner,  when  we  would  con- 
sider its  color  only,  we  turn  our  view  to  its  resemblance 
with  the  cube  of  white  marble.  By  this  means  we 
accompany  our  ideas  with  a  kind  of  reflection,  of  which 
custom  renders  us,  in  a  great  measure,  insensible.  A 
person  who  desires  us  to  consider  the  figure  of  a  globe 
of  white  marble  without  thinking  on  its  color,  desires  an 
impossibility ;  but  his  meaning  is,  that  we  should  con- 
sider the  color  and  figure  together,  but  still  keep  in  our 
eye  the  resemblance  to  the  globe  of  black  marble,  or 
that  to  any  other  globe  of  whatever  color  or  substance. 


PAET  II. 

OF  THE  IDEAS  OF  SPACE  AND  TIME. 


SECTION  I. 


OF     THE     INFINITE     DIVISIBILITY     OF     OUK     IDEAS     OF     SPACE 

AND     TIME. 

Whatever  has  the  air  of  a  paradox,  and  is  contrary  to 
the  first  and  most  unprejudiced  notions  of  mankind,  is 
often  greedily  embraced  by  philosophers,  as  showing  the 
superiority  of  their  science,  which  could  discover  opin- 
ions so  remote  from  vulgar  conception.  On  the  other 
hand,  any  thing  proposed  to  us,  which  causes  surprise 
and  admiration,  gives  such  a  satisfaction  to  the  mind,  that 
it  indulges  itself  in  those  agreeable  emotions,  and  will 
never  be  persuaded  that  its  pleasure  is  entirely  without 
foundation.  From  these  dispositions  in  philosophers  and 
their  disciples,  arises  that  mutual  complaisance  betwixt 
them ;  while  the  former  furnish  such  plenty  of  strange 
and  unaccountable  opinions,  and  the  latter  so  readily 
believe  them.  Of  this  mutual  complaisance  I  cannot 
give  a  more  evident  instance  than  in  the  doctrine  of 
infinite  divisibility,  with  the  examination  of  which  I 
shall  begin  this  subject  of  the  ideas  of  space  and  time. 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  45 

It  is  universally  allowed,  that  the  capacity  of  the  mind 
is  limited,  and  can  never  attain  a  full  and  adequate  con- 
ception of  infinity :  and  though  it  were  not  allowed,  it 
would  be  sufficiently  evident  from  the  plainest  observa- 
tion and  experience.  It  is  also  obvious,  that  whatever 
is  capable  of  being  divided  in  infinitum,  must  consist  of 
an  infinite  number  of  parts,  and  that  it  is  impossible  to 
set  any  bounds  to  the  number  of  parts,  without  setting 
bounds  at  the  same  time  to  the  division.  It  requires 
scarce  any  induction  to  conclude  from  hence,  that  the 
idea  which  we  form  of  any  finite  quality,  is  not  infinitely 
divisible,  but  that  by  proper  distinctions  and  separations 
we  may  run  up  this  idea  to  inferior  ones,  which  will  be 
perfectly  simple  and  indivisible.  In  rejecting  the  infinite 
capacity  of  the  mind,  we  suppose  it  may  arrive  at  an 
end  in  the  division  of  its  ideas ;  nor  are  there  any  possi- 
ble means  of  evading  the  evidence  of  this  conclusion. 

It  is  therefore  certain,  that  the  imagination  reaches  a 
minimum,  and  may  raise  up  to  itself  an  idea,  of  which  it 
cannot  conceive  any  subdivision,  and  which  cannot  be 
diminished  without  a  total  annihilation.  When  you  tell 
me  of  the  thousandth  and  ten  thousandth  part  of  a  grain 
of  sand,  I  have  a  distinct  idea  of  these  numbers  and  of 
their  different  proportions;  but  the  images  which  I  form 
in  my  mind  to  represent  the  things  themselves,  are  noth-. 
ing  different  from  each  other,  nor  inferior  to  that  image, 
by  which  I  represent  the  grain  of  sand  itself,  which  is 
supposed  so  vastly  to  exceed  them.  What  consists  of 
parts  is  distinguishable  into  them,  and  what  is  distin- 
guishable is  separable.  But,  whatever  we  may  imagine 
of  the  thing,  the  idea  of  a  grain  of  sand  is  not  distin- 
guishable nor  separable  into  twenty,  much  less  into  a 
thousand,  ten  thousand,  or  an  infinite  number  of  differ- 
ent ideas. 

4* 


46  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

It  is  the  same  case  with  the  impressions  of  the  senses, 
as  with  the  ideas  of  the  imagination.  Put  a  spot  of  ink 
upon  paper,  fix  your  eye  upon  that  spot,  and  retire  to 
such  a  distance  that  at  last  you  lose  sight  of  it ;  it  is 
plain,  that  the  moment  before  it  vanished,  the  image,  or 
impression,  was  perfectly  indivisible.  It  is  not  for  want 
of  rays  of  light  striking  on  our  eyes,  that  the  minute 
parts  of  distant  bodies  convey  not  any  sensible  impres- 
sion; but  because  they  are  removed  beyond  that  dis- 
tance, at  which  their  impressions  were  reduced  to  a 
minimum,  and  were  incapable  of  any  further  diminution. 
A  microscope  or  telescope,  which  renders  them  visible, 
produces  not  any  new  rays  of  light,  but  only  spreads 
those  which  always  flowed  from  them;  and,  by  that 
means,  both  gives  parts  to  impressions,  which  to  the 
naked  eye  appear  simple  and  uncompounded,  and  ad- 
vances to  a  minimum  what  was  formerly  imperceptible. 

We  may  hence  discover  the  error  of  the  common 
opinion,  that  the  capacity  of  the  mind  is  limited  on  both 
sides,  and  that  it  is  impossible  for  the  imagination  to 
form  an  adequate  idea  of  what  goes  beyond  a  certain 
degree  of  minuteness  as  well  as  of  greatness.  Nothing 
can  be  more  minute  than  some  ideas  which  we  form  in 
the  fancy,  and  images  which  appear  to  the  senses ;  since 
,  there  are  ideas  and  images  perfectly  simple  and  indivisi- 
ble. The  only  defect  of  our  senses  is,  that  they  give  us 
disproportioned  images  of  things,  and  represent  as  mi- 
nute and  uncompounded  what  is  really  great  and  com- 
posed of  a  vast  number  of  parts.  This  mistake  we  are 
not  sensible  of;  but,  taking  the  impressions  of  those 
minute  objects,  which  appear  to  the  senses  to  be  equal, 
or  nearly  equal  to  the  objects,  and  finding,  by  reason, 
that  there  are  other  objects  vastly  more  minute,  we  too 
hastily  conclude,  that  these  are  inferior  to  any  idea  of 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  47 

our  imagination  or  impression  of  our  senses.  This,  how- 
ever, is  certain,  that  we  can  form  ideas,  which  shall  be 
no  greater  than  the  smallest  atom  of  the  animal  spirits 
of  an  insect  a  thousand  times  less  than  a  mite :  and  we 
ought  rather  to  conclude,  that  the  difficulty  lies  in  en- 
larging our  conceptions  so  much  as  to  form  a  just  notion 
of  a  mite,  or  even  of  an  insect  a  thousand  times  less 
than  a  mite.  For,  in  order  to  form  a  just  notion  of  these 
animals,  we  must  have  a  distinct  idea  representing  every 
part  of  them ;  which,  according  to  the  system  of  infinite 
divisibility,  is  utterly  impossible,  and  according  to  that 
of  indivisible  parts  or  atoms,  is  extremely  difficult,  by 
reason  of  the  vast  number  and  multiplicity  of  these 
parts. 


SECTION  II. 

OF   THE   INFINITE   DIVISIBILITY    OF    SPACE   AND    TIME. 

Wherever  ideas  are  adequate  representations  of  ob- 
jects, the  relations,  contradictions,  and  agreements  of  the 
ideas  are  all  applicable  to  the  objects ;  and  this  we  may, 
in  general,  observe  to  be  the  foundation  of  all  human 
knowledge.  But  our  ideas  are  adequate  representations 
of  the  most  minute  parts  of  extension ;  and,  through  what- 
ever divisions  and  subdivisions  we  may  suppose  these 
parts  to  be  arrived  at,  they  can  never  become  inferior  to 
some  ideas  which  we  form.  The  plain  consequence  is, 
that  whatever  appears  impossible  and  contradictory  upon 
the  comparison  of  these  ideas,  must  be  really  impossible 
and  contradictory,  without  any  further  excuse  or  evasion. 

Every  thing  capable  of  being  infinitely  divided  con- 
tains an  infinite  number  of  parts ;  otherwise  the  division 
would  be  stopped  short  by  the  indivisible  parts,  which 


48  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

we  should  immediately  arrive  at.  If  therefore  any 
finite  extension  be  infinitely  divisible,  it  can  be  no  con- 
tradiction to  suppose,  that  a  finite  extension  contains  an 
infinite  number  of  parts :  and  vice  versa,  if  it  be  a  contra- 
diction to  suppose,  that  a  finite  extension  contains  an 
infinite  number  of  parts,  no  finite  extension  can  be  infi- 
nitely divisible.  But  that  this  latter  supposition  is 
absurd,  I  easily  convince  myself  by  the  consideration  of 
my  clear  ideas.  I  first  take  the  least  idea  I  can  form  of 
a  part  of  extension,  and  being  certain  that  there  is  noth- 
ing more  minute  than  this  idea,  I  conclude,  that  what- 
ever I  discover  by  its  means,  must  be  a  real  quality  of 
extension.  I  then  repeat  this  idea  once,  twice,  thrice, 
etc.,  and  find  the  compound  idea  of  extension,  arising 
from  its  repetition,  always  to  augment,  and  become 
double,  triple,  quadruple,  etc.,  till  at  last  it  swells  up  to  a 
considerable  bulk,  greater  or  smaller,  in  proportion  as  I 
repeat  more  or  less  the  same  idea.  When  I  stop  in  the 
addition  of  parts,  the  idea  of  extension  ceases  to  aug- 
ment ;  and  were  I  to  carry  on  the  addition  in  infinitum, 
I  clearly  perceive,  that  the  idea  of  extension  must  also 
become  infinite.  Upon  the  whole,  I  conclude,  that  the 
idea  of  an  infinite  number  of  parts  is  individually  the 
same  idea  with  that  of  an  infinite  extension ;  that  no 
finite  extension  is  capable  of  containing  an  infinite  num- 
ber of  parts ;  and,  consequently,  that  no  finite  extension 
is  infinitely  divisible* 

I  may  subjoin  another  argument  proposed  by  a  noted 

*  It  has  been  objected  to  me,  that  infinite  divisibility  supposes  only  an  infi- 
nite number  of  proportional  not  of  aliquot  parts,  and  that  an  infinite  number 
of  proportional  parts  does  not  form  an  infinite  extension.  But  this  distinction 
is  entirely  frivolous.  Whether  these  parts  be  called  aliquot  or  proportional, 
they  cannot  be  inferior  to  those  minute  parts,  we  conceive ;  and  therefore, 
cannot  form  a  less  extension  by  their  conjunction. 


OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  49 

author,*  which  seems  to  me  very  strong  and  beautiful. 
It  is  evident,  that  existence  in  itself  belongs  only  to 
unity,  and  is  never  applicable  to  number,  but  on  account 
of  the  units  of  which  the  number  is  composed.  Twenty 
men  may  be  said  to  exist ;  but  it  is  only  because  one, 
two,  three,  four,  etc.  are  existent ;  and  if  you  deny  the 
existence  of  the  latter,  that  of  the  former  falls  of  course. 
It  is  therefore  utterly  absurd  to  suppose  any  number  to 
exist,  and  yet  deny  the  existence  of  units ;  and  as  exten- 
sion is  always  a  number,  according  to  the  common  sen- 
timent of  metaphysicians,  and  never  dissolves  itself  into 
any  unit  or  indivisible  quantity,  it  follows  that  exten- 
sion can  never  at  all  exist.  It  is  in  vain  to  reply,  that 
any  determinate  quantity  of  extension  is  a  unit;  but 
such  a  one  as  admits  of  an  infinite  number  of  fractions, 
and  is  inexhaustible  in  its  subdivisions.  For  by  the 
same  rule,  these  twenty  men  may  he  considered  as  a  unit 
The  whole  globe  of  the  earth,  nay,  the  whole  universe 
may  he  considered  as  a  unit.  That  term  of  unity  is  merely 
a  fictitious  denomination,  which  the  mind  may  apply  to 
any  quantity  of  objects  it  collects  together ;  nor  can 
such  a  unity  any  more  exist  alone  than  number  can,  as 
being  in  reality  a  true  number.  But  the  unity,  which 
can  exist  alone,  and  whose  existence  is  necessary  to  that 
of  all  number,  is  of  another  kind,  and  must  be  perfectly 
indivisible,  and  incapable  of  being  resolved  into  any 
lesser  unity. 

All  this  reasoning  takes  place  with  regard  to  time ; 
along  with  an  additional  argument,  which  it  may  be 
proper  to  take  notice  of.  It  is  a  property  inseparable 
from  time,  and  which  in  a  manner  constitutes  its  essence, 
that  each  of  its  parts  succeeds  another,  and  that  none  of 

*  Mons.  Malezieu. 


50  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

them,  however  contiguous,  can  ever  be  coexistent.  For 
the  same  reason  that  the  year  1737  cannot  concur  with 
the  present  year  1738,  every  moment  must  be  distinct 
from,  and  posterior  or  antecedent  to  another.  It  is  cer- 
tain then,  that  time,  as  it  exists,  must  be  composed  of 
indivisible  moments.  For  if  in  time  we  could  never 
arrive  at  an  end  of  division,  and  if  each  moment,  as  it 
succeeds  another,  were  not  perfectly  single  and  indivisi- 
ble, there  would  be  an  infinite  number  of  coexistent 
moments,  or  parts  of  time ;  which  I  believe  will  be 
allowed  to  be  an  arrant  contradiction. 

The  infinite  divisibility  of  space  implies  that  of  time, 
as  is  evident  from  the  nature  of  motion.  If  the  latter, 
therefore,  be  impossible,  the  former  must  be  equally  so. 

I  doubt  not  but  it  will  readily  be  allowed  by  the  most 
obstinate  defender  of  the  doctrine  of  infinite  divisibility, 
that  these  arguments  are  difficulties,  and  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  give  any  answer  to  them  which  will  be  per- 
fectly clear  and  satisfactory.  But  here  we  may  observe, 
that  nothing  can  be  more  absurd  than  this  custom  of 
calling  a  difficulty  what  pretends  to  be  a  demonstration,  and 
endeavoring  by  that  means  to  elude  its  force  and  evi- 
dence. It  is  not  in  demonstrations,  as  in  probabilities, 
that  difficulties  can  take  place,  and  one  argument  coun- 
terbalance another,  and  diminish  its  authority.  A  demon- 
stration, if  just,  admits  of  no  opposite  difficulty  ;  and  if 
not  just,  it  is  a  mere  sophism,  and  consequently  can 
never  be  a  difficulty.  It  is  either  irresistible,  or  has  no 
manner  of  force.  To  talk  therefore  of  objections  and 
replies,  and  balancing  of  arguments  in  such  a  question 
as  this,  is  to  confess,  either  that  human  reason  is  nothing 
but  a  play  of  words,  or  that  the  person  himself,  who 
talks  so,  has  not  a  capacity  equal  to  such  subjects. 
Demonstrations  may  be  difficult  to  be  comprehended, 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  51 

because  of  the  abstractedness  of  the  subject ;  but  can 
never  have  any  such  difficulties  as  will  weaken  their 
authority,  when  once  they  are  comprehended. 

It  is  true,  mathematicians  are  wont  to  say,  that  there 
are  here  equally  strong  arguments  on  the  other  side  of 
the  question,  and  that  the  doctrine  of  indivisible  points 
is  also  liable  to  unanswerable  objections.  Before  I 
examine  these  arguments  and  objections  in  detail,  I  will 
here  take  them  in  a  body,  and  endeavor,  by  a  short  and 
decisive  reason,  to  prove,  at  once,  that  it  is  utterly  im- 
possible they  can  have  any  just  foundation. 

It  is  an  established  maxim  in  metaphysics,  That  ivhat- 
ever  the  mind  clearly  conceives  includes  the  idea  of  possible  ex- 
istence, or,  in  other  words,  that  nothing  ive  imagine  is  abso- 
lidely  impossible.  We  can  form  the  idea  of  a  golden 
mountain,  and  from  thence  conclude,  that  such  a  moun- 
tain may  actually  exist.  We  can  form  no  idea  of  a 
mountain  without  a  valley,  and  therefore  regard  it  as 
impossible. 

Now  it  is  certain  we  have  an  idea  of  extension  ;  for 
otherwise,  why  do  we  talk  and  reason  concerning  it? 
It  is  likewise  certain,  that  this  idea,  as  conceived  by  the 
imagination,  though  divisible  into  parts  or  inferior  ideas, 
is  not  infinitely  divisible,  nor  consists  of  an  infinite  num- 
ber of  parts :  for  that  exceeds  the  comprehension  of  our 
limited  capacities.  Here  then  is  an  idea  of  extension, 
which  consists  of  parts  or  inferior  ideas,  that  are  per- 
fectly indivisible :  consequently  this  idea  implies  no  con- 
tradiction :  consequently  it  is  possible  for  extension 
really  to  exist  conformable  to  it :  and  consequently,  all 
the  arguments  employed  against  the  possibility  of  math- 
ematical points  are  mere  scholastic  quibbles,  and  un- 
worthy of  our  attention. 

These  consequences  we  may  carry  one  step  further, 


52  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

and  conclude  that  all  the  pretended  demonstrations  for 
the  infinite  divisibility  of  extension  are  equally  sophisti- 
cal ;  since  it  is  certain  these  demonstrations  cannot  be 
just  without  proving  the  impossibility  of  mathematical 
points ;  which  it  is  an  evident  absurdity  to  pretend  to. 


SECTION  III. 

OF  THE  OTHER  QUALITIES  OF  OUR  IDEAS  OF  SPACE  AND  TIME. 

No  discovery  could  have  been  made  more  happily  for 
deciding  all  controversies  concerning  ideas,  than  that 
above  mentioned,  that  impressions  always  take  the 
precedency  of  them,  and  that  every  idea,  with  which 
the  imagination  is  furnished,  first  makes  its  appearance 
in  a  correspondent  impression.  These  latter  perceptions 
are  all  so  clear  and  evident,  that  they  admit  of  no  con- 
troversy ;  though  many  of  our  ideas  are  so  obscure,  that 
it  is  almost  impossible  even  for  the  mind,  which  forms 
them,  to  tell  exactly  their  nature  and  composition.  Let 
us  apply  this  principle,  in  order  to  discover  further  the 
nature  of  our  ideas  of  space  and  time. 

Upon  opening  my  eyes  and  turning  them  to  the  sur- 
rounding objects,  I  perceive  many  visible  bodies ;  and 
upon  shutting  them  again,  and  considering  the  distance 
betwixt  these  bodies,  I  acquire  the  idea  of  extension. 
As  every  idea  is  derived  from  some  impression  which  is 
exactly  similar  to  it,  the  impressions  similar  to  this  idea 
of  extension,  must  either  be  some  sensations  derived 
from  the  sight,  or  some  internal  impressions  arising  from 
these  sensations. 

Our  internal  impressions  are  our  passions,  emotions, 
desires,  and  aversions ;  none  of  which,  I  believe,  will 


OF   THE    UNDERSTANDING.  53 

ever  be  asserted  to  be  the  model  from  which  the  idea 
of  space  is  derived.  There  remains,  therefore,  nothing 
but  the  senses  which  can  convey  to  us  this  original 
impression.  Now,  what  impression  do  our  senses  here 
convey  to  us?  This  is  the  principal  question,  and 
decides  without  appeal  concerning  the  nature  of  the 
idea. 

The  table  before  me  is  alone  sufficient  by  its  view  to 
give  me  the  idea  of  extension.  This  idea,  then,  is 
borrowed  from,  and  represents  some  impression  which 
this  moment  appears  to  the  senses.  But  my  senses 
convey  to  me  only  the  impressions  of  colored  points, 
disposed  in  a  certain  manner.  If  the  eye  is  sensible  of 
any  thing  further,  I  desire  it  may  be  pointed  out  to  me. 
But,  if  it  be  impossible  to  show  any  thing  further,  we 
may  conclude  with  certainty,  that  the  idea  of  extension 
is  nothing  but  a  copy  of  these  colored  points,  and  of 
the  manner  of  their  appearance. 

Suppose  that,  in  the  extended  object,  or  composition 
of  colored  points,  from  which  we  first  received  the  idea 
of  extension,  the  points  were  of  a  purple  color ;  it 
follows,  that  in  every  repetition  of  that  idea  we  would 
not  only  place  the  points  in  the  same  order  with  respect 
to  each  other,  but  also  bestow  on  them  that  precise 
color  with  which  alone  we  are  acquainted.  But  after- 
wards, having  experience  of  the  other  colors  of  violet, 
green,  red,  white,  black,  and  of  all  the  different  com- 
positions of  these,  and  finding  a  resemblance  in  the 
disposition  of  colored  points,  of  which  they  are  com- 
posed, we  omit  the  peculiarities  of  color,  as  far  as 
possible,  and  found  an  abstract  idea  merely  on  that 
disposition  of  points,  or  manner  of  appearance,  in  which 
they  agree.  Nay,  even  when  the  resemblance  is  carried 
beyond  the  objects  of  one  sense,  and  the  impressions 

vol.  i.  5 


54  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

of  touch  are  found  to  be  similar  to  those  of  sight  in 
the  disposition  of  their  parts ;  this  does  not  hinder  the 
abstract  idea  from  representing  both,  upon  account  of 
their  resemblance.  All  abstract  ideas  are  really  nothing 
but  particular  ones,  considered  in  a  certain  light ;  but 
being  annexed  to  general  terms,  they  are  able  to  repre- 
sent a  vast  variety,  and  to  comprehend  objects,  which, 
as  they  are  alike  in  some  particulars,  are  in  others 
vastly  wide  of  each  other. 

The  idea  of  time,  being  derived  from  the  succession 
of  our  perceptions  of  every  kind,  ideas  as  well  as 
impressions,  and  impressions  of  reflection  as  well  as  of 
sensation,  will  afford  us  an  instance  of  an  abstract  idea, 
which  comprehends  a  still  greater  variety  than  that 
of  space,  and  yet  is  represented  in  the  fancy  by  some 
particular  individual  idea  of  a  determined  quantity  and 
quality. 

As  it  is  from  the  disposition  of  visible  and  tangible 
objects  we  receive  the  idea  of  space,  so,  from  the  suc- 
cession of  ideas  and  impressions  we  form  the  idea  of 
time  j  nor  is  it  possible  for  time  alone  ever  to  make  its 
appearance,  or  be  taken  notice  of  by  the  mind.  A 
man  in  a  sound  sleep,  or  strongly  occupied  with  one 
thought,  is  insensible  of  time ;  and  according  as  his 
perceptions  succeed  each  other  with  greater  or  less 
rapidity,  the  same  duration  appears  longer  or  shorter  to 
his  imagination.  It  has  been  remarked  by  a  great 
philosopher,*  that  our  perceptions  have  certain  bounds 
in  this  particular,  which  are  fixed  by  the  original  nature 
and  constitution  of  the  mind,  and  beyond  which  no 
influence  of  external  objects  on  the  senses  is  ever  able 
to  hasten  or  retard  our  thought.     If  you  wheel  about 

*  Mr.  Locke. 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  55 

a  burning  coal  with  rapidity,  it  will  present  to  the 
senses  an  image  of  a  circle  of  fire ;  nor  will  there  seem 
to  be  any  interval  of  time  betwixt  its  revolutions ; 
merely  because  it  is  impossible  for  our  perceptions  to 
succeed  each  other,  with  the  same  rapidity  that  motion 
may  be  communicated  to  external  objects.  Wherever 
we  have  no  successive  perceptions,  we  have  no  notion 
of  time,  even  though  there  be  a  real  succession  in 
the  objects.  From  these  phenomena,  as  well  as  from 
many  others,  we  may  conclude,  that  time  cannot  make 
its  appearance  to  the  mind,  either  alone  or  attended 
with  a  steady  unchangeable  object,  but  is  always  dis- 
covered by  some  perceivable  succession  of  changeable 
objects. 

To  confirm  this  we  may  add  the  following  argument, 
which  to  me  seems  perfectly  decisive  and  convincing. 
It  is  evident,  that  time  or  duration  consists  of  different 
parts :  for  otherwise,  we  could  not  conceive  a  longer  or 
shorter  duration.  It  is  also  evident,  that  these  parts 
are  not  coexistent :  for  that  quality  of  the  coexistence 
of  parts  belongs  to  extension,  and  is  what  distinguishes 
it  from  duration.  Now  as  time  is  composed  of  parts 
that  are  not  coexistent,  an  unchangeable  object,  since 
it  produces  none  but  coexistent  impressions,  produces 
none  that  can  give  us  the  idea  of  time;  and,  conse- 
quently, that  idea  must  be  derived  from  a  succession 
of  changeable  objects,  and  time  in  its  first  appearance 
can  never  be  severed  from  such  a  succession. 

Having  therefore  found,  that  time  in  its  first  appear- 
ance to  the  mind  is  always  conjoined  with  a  succession 
of  changeable  objects,  and  that  otherwise  it  can  never 
fall  under  our  notice,  we  must  now  examine,  whether 
it  can  be  conceived  without  our  conceiving  any  succession 


56  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

of  objects,  and  whether  it  can  alone  form  a  distinct  idea 
in  the  imagination. 

In  order  to  know  whether  any  objects,  which  are 
joined  in  impression,  be  separable  in  idea,  we  need  only 
consider  if  they  be  different  from  each  other ;  in  which 
case  it  is  plain  they  may  be  conceived  apart.  Every 
thing  that  is  different  is  distinguishable,  and  every  thing 
that  is  distinguishable  may  be  separated,  according  to 
the  maxims  above  explained.  If,  on  the  contrary,  they 
be  not  different,  they  are  not  distinguishable ;  and  if 
they  be  not  distinguishable,  they  cannot  be  separated. 
But  this  is  precisely  the  case  with  respect  to  time, 
compared  with  our  successive  perceptions.  The  idea  of 
time  is  not  derived  from  a  particular  impression  mixed 
up  with  others,  and  plainly  distinguishable  from  them, 
but  arises  altogether  from  the  manner  in  which  impres- 
sions appear  to  the  mind,  without  making  one  of  the 
number.  Five  notes  played  on  a  flute  give  us  the 
impression  and  idea  of  time,  though  time  be  not  a  sixth 
impression  which  presents  itself  to  the  hearing  or  any 
other  of  the  senses.  Nor  is  it  a  sixth  impression  which 
the  mind  by  reflection  finds  in  itself.  These  five  sounds 
making  their  appearance  in  this  particular  manner, 
excite  no  emotion  in  the  mind,  nor  produce  an  affection 
of  any  kind,  which  being  observed  by  it  can  give  rise 
to  a  new  idea.  For  that  is  necessary  to  produce  a  new 
idea  of  reflection ;  nor  can  the  mind,  by  revolving  over 
a  thousand  times  all  its  ideas  of  sensation,  ever  extract 
from  them  any  new  original  idea,  unless  nature  has  so 
framed  its  faculties,  that  it  feels  some  new  original 
impression  arise  from  such  a  contemplation.  But  here 
it  only  takes  notice  of  the  manner  in  which  the  different 
sounds  make  their  appearance,  and  that  it  may  after- 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  57 

wards  consider  without  considering  these  particular 
sounds,  but  may  conjoin  it  with  any  other  objects. 
The  ideas  of  some  objects  it  certainly  must  have,  nor 
is  it  possible  for  it  without  these  ideas  ever  to  arrive 
at  any  conception  of  time;  which,  since  it  appears  not 
as  any  primary  distinct  impression,  can  plainly  be 
nothing  but  different  ideas,  or  impressions,  or  objects 
disposed  in  a  certain  manner,  that  is,  succeeding  each 
other. 

I  know  there  are  some  who  pretend  that  the  idea  of 
duration  is  applicable  in  a  proper  sense  to  objects  which 
are  perfectly  unchangeable ;  and  this  I  take  to  be  the 
common  opinion  of  philosophers  as  well  as  of  the  vulgar. 
But  to  be  convinced  of  its  falsehood,  we  need  but  reflect 
on  the  foregoing  conclusion,  that  the  idea  of  duration  is 
always  derived  from  a  succession  of  changeable  objects, 
and  can  never  be  conveyed  to  the  mind  by  any  thing 
steadfast  and  unchangeable.  For  it  inevitably  follows 
from  thence,  that  since  the  idea  of  duration  cannot  be 
derived  from  such  an  object,  it  can  never  in  any  pro- 
priety or  exactness  be  applied  to  it,  nor  can  any  thing 
unchangeable  be  ever  said  to  have  duration.  Ideas 
always  represent  the  objects  or  impressions  from  which 
they  are  derived,  and  can  never,  without  a  fiction,  repre- 
sent or  be  applied  to  any  other.  By  what  fiction  we 
apply  the  idea  of  time,  even  to  what  is  unchangeable, 
and  suppose,  as  is  common,  that  duration  is  a  measure 
of  rest  as  well  as  of  motion,  we  shall  consider  after- 
wards. * 

There  is  another  very  decisive  argument,  which  estab- 
lishes the  present  doctrine  concerning  our  ideas  of  space 

*  Sect.  5. 

5* 


58  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

and  time,  and  is  founded  only  on  that  simple  principle, 
that  our  ideas  of  them  are  compounded  of  parts,  which  are 
indivisible.     This  argument  may  be  worth  the  examining. 

Every  idea  that  is  distinguishable  being  also  separa- 
ble, let  us  take  one  of  those  simple  indivisible  ideas,  of 
which  the  compound  one  of  extension  is  formed,  and 
separating  it  from  all  others,  and  considering  it  apart, 
let  us  form  a  judgment  of  its  nature  and  qualities. 

It  is  plain  it  is  not  the  idea  of  extension :  for  the  idea 
of  extension  consists  of  parts ;  and  this  idea,  according 
to  the  supposition,  is  perfectly  simple  and  indivisible. 
Is  it,  therefore,  nothing  ?  That  is  absolutely  impossible. 
For  as  the  compound  idea  of  extension,  which  is  real,  is 
composed  of  such  ideas,  were  these  so  many  nonentities 
there  would  be  a  real  existence  composed  of  nonentities, 
which  is  absurd.  Here,  therefore,  I  must  ask,  What  is 
our  idea  of  a  simple  and  indivisible  point?  No  wonder  if 
my  answer  appear  somewhat  new,  since  the  question 
itself  has  scarce  ever  yet  been  thought  of.  We  are 
wont  to  dispute  concerning  the  nature  of  mathematical 
points,  but  seldom  concerning  the  nature  of  their  ideas. 

The  idea  of  space  is  conveyed  to  the  mind  by  two 
senses,  the  sight  and  touch ;  nor  does  any  thing  ever 
appear  extended,  that  is  not  either  visible  or  tangible. 
That  compound  impression,  which  represents  extension, 
consists  of  several  lesser  impressions,  that  are  indivisible 
to  the  eye  or  feeling,  and  may  be  called  impressions  of 
atoms  or  corpuscles  endowed  with  color  and  solidity. 
But  this  is  not  all.  It  is  not  only  requisite  that  these 
atoms  should  be  colored  or  tangible,  in  order  to  discover 
themselves  to  our  senses ;  it  is  also  necessary  we  should 
preserve  the  idea  of  their  color  or  tangibility,  in  order 
to   comprehend   them  by  our  imagination.      There   is 


OF   THE    UNDERSTANDING.  59 

nothing  but  the  idea  of  their  color  or  tangibility  which 
can  render  them  conceivable  by  the  mind.  Upon  the 
removal  of  the  ideas  of  these  sensible  qualities,  they  are 
utterly  annihilated  to  the  thought  or  imagination. 

Now,  such  as  the  parts  are,  such  is  the  whole.  If  a 
point  be  not  considered  as  colored  or  tangible,  it  can 
convey  to  us  no  idea;  and  consequently  the  idea  of 
extension,  which  is  composed  of  the  ideas  of  these  points, 
can  never  possibly  exist :  but  if  the  idea  of  extension 
really  can  exist,  as  we  are  conscious  it  does,  its  parts 
must  also  exist ;  and  in  order  to  that,  must  be  considered 
as  colored  or  tangible.  We  have,  therefore,  no  idea  of 
space  or  extension,  but  when  we  regard  it  as  an  object 
either  of  our  sight  or  feeling. 

The  same  reasoning  will  prove,  that  the  indivisible 
moments  of  time  must  be  filled  with  some  real  object 
or  existence,  whose  succession  forms  the  duration,  and 
makes  it  be  conceivable  by  the  mind. 


SECTION  IV. 

OBJECTIONS   ANSWERED. 

Our  system  concerning  space  and  time  consists  of  two 
parts,  which  are  intimately  connected  together.  The 
first  depends  on  this  chain  of  reasoning.  The  capac- 
ity of  the  mind  is  not  infinite,  consequently  no  idea  of 
extension  or  duration  consists  of  an  infinite  number  of 
parts  or  inferior  ideas,  but  of  a  finite  number,  and  these 
simple  and  indivisible :  it  is,  therefore,  possible  for  space 
and  time  to  exist  conformable  to  this  idea :  and  if  it  be 
possible,  it  is  certain  they  actually  do  exist  conformable 


60  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

to  it,  since  their  infinite  divisibility  is  utterly  impossible 
and  contradictory. 

The  other  part  of  our  system  is  a  consequence  of  this. 
The  parts,  into  which  the  ideas  of  space  and  time  resolve 
themselves,  become  at  last  indivisible ;  and  these  indi- 
visible parts,  being  nothing  in  themselves,  are  incon- 
ceivable when  not  filled  with  something  real  and  existent. 
The  ideas  of  space  and  time  are,  therefore,  no  separate 
or  distinct  ideas,  but  merely  those  of  the  manner  or 
order  in  which  objects  exist ;  or,  in  other  words,  it  is 
impossible  to  conceive  either  a  vacuum  and  extension 
without  matter,  or  a  time  when  there  was  no  succession 
or  change  in  any  real  existence.  The  intimate  connec- 
tion betwixt  these  parts  of  our  system  is  the  reason  why 
we  shall  examine  together  the  objections  which  have 
been  urged  against  both  of  them,  beginning  with  those 
against  the  finite  divisibility  of  extension. 

I.  The  first  of  these  objections  which  I  shall  take 
notice  of,  is  more  proper  to  prove  this  connection  and 
dependence  of  the  one  part  upon  the  other  than  to 
destroy  either  of  them.  It  has  often  been  maintained 
in  the  schools,  that  extension  must  be  divisible,  in  infini- 
tum, because  the  system  of  mathematical  points  is 
absurd ;  and  that  system  is  absurd,  because  a  mathe- 
matical point  is  a  nonentity,  and  consequently  can 
never,  by  its  conjunction  with  others,  form  a  real  exist- 
ence. This  would  be  perfectly  decisive,  were  there  no 
medium  betwixt  the  infinite  divisibility  of  matter,  and 
the  nonentity  of  mathematical  points.  But  there  is 
evidently  a  medium,  viz.  the  bestowing  a  color  or  solid- 
ity on  these  points;  and  the  absurdity  of  both  the 
extremes  is  a  demonstration  of  the  truth  and  reality  of 
this  medium.     The  system  of  physical  points,  which  is 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  61 

another  medium,  is  too  absurd  to  need  a  refutation.  A 
real  extension,  such  as  a  physical  point  is  supposed  to 
be,  can  never  exist  without  parts  different  from  each 
other ;  and  wherever  objects  are  different,  they  are  dis- 
tinguishable and  separable  by  the  imagination. 

II.  The  second  objection  is  derived  from  the  necessity 
there  would  be  of  penetration,  if  extension  consisted  of 
mathematical  points.  A  simple  and  indivisible  atom 
that  touches  another  must  necessarily  penetrate  it ;  for 
it  is  impossible  it  can  touch  it  by  its  external  parts,  from 
the  very  supposition  of  its  perfect  simplicity,  which 
excludes  all  parts.  It  must  therefore  touch  it  inti- 
mately, and  in  its  whole  essence,  secundum  se.  tota,  et  total* 
iter ;  which  is  the  very  definition  of  penetration.  But 
penetration  is  impossible :  mathematical  points  are  of 
consequence  equally  impossible. 

I  answer  this  objection  by  substituting  a  juster  idea 
of  penetration.  Suppose  two  bodies,  containing  no  void 
within  their  circumference,  to  approach  each  other,  and 
to  unite  in  such  a  manner  that  the  body,  which  results 
from  their  union,  is  no  more  extended  than  either  of 
them ;  it  is  this  we  must  mean  when  we  talk  of  penetra- 
tion. But  it  is  evident  this  penetration  is  nothing  but 
the  annihilation  of  one  of  these  bodies,  and  the  preser- 
vation of  the  other,  without  being  able  to  distinguish 
particularly  which  is  preserved  and  which  annihilated. 
Before  the  approach  we  have  the  idea  of  two  bodies ; 
after  it  we  have  the  idea  only  of  one.  It  is  impossible 
for  the  mind  to  preserve  any  notion  of  difference  betwixt 
two  bodies  of  the  same  nature  existing  in  the  same 
place  at  the  same  time. 

Taking  then  penetration  in  this  sense,  for  the  anni- 
hilation of  one  body  upon  its  approach  to  another,  I  ask 


62  OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

any  one  if  he  sees  a  necessity  that  a  colored  or  tangible 
point  should  be  annihilated  upon  the  approach  of 
another  colored  or  tangible  point  ?  On  the  contrary, 
does  he  not  evidently  perceive,  that,  from  the  union  of 
these  points,  there  results  an  object  which  is  compounded 
and  divisible,  and  may  be  distinguished  into  two  parts, 
of  which  each  preserves  its  existence,  distinct  and  sepa- 
rate, notwithstanding  its  contiguity  to  the  other  ?  Let 
him  aid  his  fancy  by  conceiving  these  points  to  be  of 
different  colors,  the  better  to  prevent  their  coalition  and 
confusion.  A  blue  and  a  red  point  may  surely  lie  con- 
tiguous without  any  penetration  or  annihilation.  For 
if  they  cannot,  what  possibly  can  become  of  them  ? 
Whether  shall  the  red  or  the  blue  be  annihilated  ?  Or 
if  these  colors  unite  into  one,  what  new  color  will  they 
produce  by  their  union  ? 

What  chiefly  gives  rise  to  these  objections,  and  at  the 
same  time  renders  it  so  difficult  to  give  a  satisfactory 
answer  to  them,  is  the  natural  infirmity  and  unsteadi- 
ness both  of  our  imagination  and  senses  when  employed 
on  such  minute  objects.  Put  a  spot  of  ink  upon  paper, 
and  retire  to  such  a  distance  that  the  spot  becomes 
altogether  invisible,  you  will  find,  that,  upon  your 
return  and  nearer  approach,  the  sppt  first  becomes  visi- 
ble by  short  intervals,  and  afterwards  becomes  always 
visible  ;  and  afterwards  acquires  only  a  new  force  in  its 
coloring,  without  augmenting  its  bulk  ;  and  afterwards, 
when  it  has  increased  to  such  a  degree  as  to  be  really 
extended,  it  is  still  difficult  for  the  imagination  to  break 
it  into  its  component  parts,  because  of  the  uneasiness  it 
finds  in  the  conception  of  such  a  minute  object  as  a 
single  point.  This  infirmity  affects  most  of  our  reason- 
ings on  the  present  subject,  and  makes  it  almost  impossi- 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  63 

ble  to  answer  in  an  intelligible  manner,  and  in  proper  ex- 
pressions, many  questions  which  may  arise  concerning  it. 

III.  There  have  been  many  objections  drawn  from 
the  mathematics  against  the  indivisibility  of  the  parts  of 
extension,  though  at  first  sight  that  science  seems  rather 
favorable  to  the  present  doctrine ;  and  if  it  be  contrary 
in  its  demonstrations,  it  is  perfectly  conformable  in  its  defi- 
nitions.  My  present  business  then  must  be,  to  defend  the 
definitions  and  refute  the  demonstrations. 

A  surface  is  defined  to  be  length  and  breadth  without 
depth ;  a  line  to  be  length  without  breadth  or  depth ; 
a  point  to  be  what  has  neither  length,  breadth,  nor 
depth.  It  is  evident  that  this  is  perfectly  unintelli- 
gible upon  any  other  supposition  than  that  of  the  com- 
position of  extension  by  indivisible  points  or  atoms. 
How  else  could  any  thing  exist  without  length,  without 
breadth,  or  without  depth  ? 

Two  different  answers,  I  find,  have  been  made  to  this 
argument,  neither  of  which  is,  in  my  opinion,  satisfac- 
tory. The  first  is,  that  the  objects  of  geometry,  those 
surfaces,  lines,  and  points,  whose  proportions  and  posi- 
tions it  examines,  are  mere  ideas  in  the  mind ;  and  not 
only  never  did,  but  never  can  exist  in  nature.  They 
never  did  exist ;  for  no  one  will  pretend  to  draw  a  line 
or  make  a  surface  entirely  conformable  to  the  definition : 
they  never  can  exist ;  for  we  may  produce  demonstra- 
tions from  these  very  ideas  to  prove  that  they  are  impos- 
sible. 

But  can  any  thing  be  imagined  more  absurd  and  con- 
tradictory than  this  reasoning  ?  Whatever  can  be  con- 
ceived by  a  clear  and  distinct  idea,  necessarily  implies 
the  possibility  of  existence ;  and  he  who  pretends  to 
prove  the  impossibility  of  its  existence  by  any  argu- 
ment derived  from  the  clear  idea,  in  reality  asserts  that 


64  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

we  have  no  clear  idea  of  it,  because  we  have  a  clear 
idea.  It  is  in  vain  to  search  for  a  contradiction  in  any 
thing  that  is  distinctly  conceived  by  the  mind.  Did  it 
imply  any  contradiction,  it  is  impossible  it  could  ever  be 
conceived. 

There  is  therefore  no  medium  betwixt  allowing  at 
least  the  possibility  of  indivisible  points,  and  denying 
their  ideas ;  and  it  is  on  this  latter  principle  that  the 
second  answer  to  the  foregoing  argument  is  founded.  It 
has  been  pretended,*  that  though  it  be  impossible  to 
conceive  a  length  without  any  breadth,  yet  by  an 
abstraction  without  a  separation  we  can  consider  the 
one  without  regarding  the  other ;  in  the  same  manner 
as  we  may  think  of  the  length  of  the  way  betwixt  two 
towns  and  overlook  its  breadth.  The  length  is  insepara- 
ble from  the  breadth  both  in  nature  and  in  our  minds; 
but  this  excludes  not  a  partial  consideration,  and  a  dis- 
tinction of  reason,  after  the  manner  above  explained. 

In  refuting  this  answer  I  shall  not  insist  on  the  argu- 
ment, which  I  have  already  sufficiently  explained,  that  if 
it  be  impossible  for  the  mind  to  arrive  at  a  minimum  in 
its  ideas,  its  capacity  must  be  infinite  in  order  to  com- 
prehend the  infinite  number  of  parts,  of  which  its  idea 
of  any  extension  would  be  composed.  I  shall  here  en- 
deavor to  find  some  new  absurdities  in  this  reasoning. 

A  surface  terminates  a  solid ;  a  line  terminates  a  sur- 
face ;  a  point  terminates  a  line ;  but  I  assert,  that  if  the 
ideas  of  a  point,  line,  or  surface,  were  not  indivisible,  it  is 
impossible  we  should  ever  conceive  these  terminations. 
For  let  these  ideas  be  supposed  infinitely  divisible,  and 
then  let  the  fancy  endeavor  to  fix  itself  on  the  idea  of 
the  last  surface,  line,  or  point,  it  immediately  finds  this 

*  L'Art  de  penser. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  65 

idea  to  break  into  parts ;  and  upon  its  seizing  the  last  of 
these  parts,  it  loses  its  hold  by  a  new  division,  and  so  on 
in  infinitum,  without  any  possibility  of  its  arriving  at  a 
concluding  idea.  The  number  of  fractions  bring  it  no 
nearer  the  last  division  than  the  first  idea  it  formed. 
Every  particle  eludes  the  grasp  by  a  new  fraction,  like 
quicksilver,  when  we  endeavor  to  seize  it.  But  as  in 
fact  there  must  be  something  which  terminates  the  idea 
of  every  finite  quantity,  and  as  this  terminating  idea 
cannot  itself  consist  of  parts  or  inferior  ideas,  otherwise 
it  would  be  the  last  of  its  parts,  which  finished  the  idea, 
and  so  on ;  this  is  a  clear  proof,  that  the  ideas  of  sur- 
faces, lines,  and  points,  admit  not  of  any  division ;  those 
of  surfaces  in  depth,  of  lines  in  breadth  and  depth,  and 
of  points  in  any  dimension. 

The  schoolmen  were  so  sensible  of  the  force  of  this 
argument,  that  some  of  them  maintained  that  nature 
has  mixed  among  those  particles  of  mattqr,  which  are 
divisible  in  infinitum,  a  number  of  mathematical  points  in 
order  to  give  a  termination  to  bodies ;  and  others  eluded 
the  force  of  this  reasoning  by  a  heap  of  unintelligible 
cavils  and  distinctions.  Both  these  adversaries  equally 
yield  the  victory.  A  man  who  hides  himself  confesses 
as  evidently  the  superiority  of  his  enemy,  as  another, 
who  fairly  delivers  his  arms. 

Thus  it  appears,  that  the  definitions  of  mathematics 
destroy  the  pretended  demonstrations ;  and  that  if  we 
have  the  idea  of  indivisible  points,  lines,  and  surfaces, 
comformable  to  the  definition,  their  existence  is  certainly 
possible ;  but  if  we  have  no  such  idea,  it  is  impossible  we 
can  ever  conceive  the  termination  of  any  figure,  without 
which  conception  there  can  be  no  geometrical  demon- 
stration. 

But  I  go  further,  and  maintain,  that  none  of  these 

vol.  i.  6 


i,<,  ...  mi  .  on  .  i  ,i  o 

,1.     MMU,      h      llm,:  |    .,,,        I,:,'.,  I.iil.     M     III        \\  i     l"l.l         |f|       I         I     |l>|il    I. 

iu(  b  i  principle  m  i.Imm  of  Infinite  divisibility  i  and  tha4 
tuse  will  i  to  suoh  miiiiii.  otyi  oti|  they  are  n.. i 

proporlj  d( imonstrations,  being  bttill  on  Ideas  whioh 
I... i  .   k  i  and  maxims  whioh  in  nol  precisely    ti  ik 
WIm'm  geometry  deoides  my  thing  oonoeraing  tho  pro 
portion!  of  quantity,  we  ought  not  to  look  tor  the  "i 
most  pftcitfon  and  exactness.    Noun  of  Iti  proofl  extend 
io  Cur :  It  <:ii .    ii.«  .inn. .»  ion  and  proportion  oi  Igun 
,,i  tlj  .  bul  roughlj   and  with  lomi  llborl |      [tea 

an  m '  <  i  1 1 1(  rable,  nor  would  ••  en  al  all,  did  II  not 

ai  |.M<  in  moh  an  absolute  perfection. 

I  in  i  n  i  mathematicians  what  thej  mean  when  th 
:n  one  line  or  nurfiioe  li  equal  to,  or  grttiw%  or  fen  than 
anothei "    t«o1  any  of  them  glvi  an  answer,  to  what* 
he  belongs,  and  whether  he  maintains  the  comp 

tiotl  "I    «■■  I '    '•;    1 1 w I i vimiI >K*    |MiinlM,  <n*  l»v  <|n:mfili. 

divisible  m  infinitum.    This  question  will  embarrass  both 

of  Hi.  in 

There  are  few  or  no  mathematicians  who  defend  th< 
hypothesis  of  Indivisible  point*,  and  yel  these  have  the 

Hi  i  and  justest  answer  <<>  the  present  que  tion 

They  need  onlj  reply,  thai  line  or  urfkoei  ai [ualj 

when  the  numbers  of  points  In  eaoh  are  equal  |  and  thai 
tin  \\\o  proportion  of  ii»<»  numbers  varies,  thti  proportion 
of  the  lines  and  lurfkos   I  al  o  varied.    Bui  though  iImm 

wei  be/w<  as  well  as  obvioui  >yel  I  ma]  affirm,  that 
iin  standard  of  equality  Is  entirely  .  /  .  and  thai  ll 
nrii  b  comparison  we  determine  otyeol  to 
i.r  equal  or  unequal  \m<i>  rasped  to  eaoh  other  For  M 
the  points  which  enter  Into  the  composition  of  anj  line 
or  mum  .. . .  whether  perceived  bj  the  ni^lii  or  touch,  are 
po  minute  Mid  so  oonfounded  with  eaoh  other  thai 
utterly  Impossible  tor  the  mind  to  oomputc  their  num- 


Of    mi     i  \pi  |    i  \\i 

ber>  such  a  computation  will  never  afibrd  us  a  standard 
bj  wIikIi  we  iiimv  Judge  of  proportions.  No  on*  wlM 
ever  be  able  <<>  determine,  b)  la  exaol  enumeration,  thai 
an  mcii  has  r^wcr  points  than  a  foot,  or  a  (bot  fewer  than 
as  hi,  or  any  greater  measure)  for  which  reason,  we 
eldom  or  never  consider  this  s  ithi  standard  of  equality 
-m  Inequality! 

Am  to  those  who  imagine  thai  extension  is  divisible  mi 
it[fr)ri/ttiH9  ii   in  impossible  they  can   make  use  of  this 
answer,  or  ii\  the  equality  of  any  line  or  surfttce  by  a 
numeration  of  its  component  parts,     For  wince,  ace 
ing  to  their  hypothesis,  the  least  as  well  itesl 

figure  contain  an  infinite  number  of  parts,  And  since 
Infinite  numbers,  properly  speaking,  can  neither  i>e 
•qua]  nor  unequal  with  respect  i<>  each  oilier,  the  equal* 
H\  or  inequality  of  any  portions  of  space  can  never 
depend  on  any  proportion  In  the  number  of  their  parts, 
ii  i;  hue,  [t  may  be  said,  thai  the  inequality  of  an  ell 
and  s  yard  consists  In  the  different  numbers  of  the  feet 
of  which  they  are  composed,  and  thai  of  a  fool  and  a 
yard  in  the  number  of  Inches,  But  nn  thai  quantity  we 
oatl  an  Inch  In  the  one  Is  supposed  equal  to  whal  we  call 

in  inch  in  Hie  oilier,  and  mm  It  in  Impossible  for  the  mind 

to  find  this  equality  i»v  proceeding  in  iq/tnituiH  wiih  these 
references  to  inferior  quantities,  it  Is  evident  that  at  ImsI 
we  musl  ii\  Home  standard  of  equality  different  from  an 
enumeration  of  the  part* 

There    aN    Home  wlm    prel.nnl/:'  lleil    e<|imlilv  is    best 

defined  l>,y  congruUf/i  and  that  any  two  figures  are  equal, 
when  upon  the  placing  of  one  upon  the  other,  all  their 
pari  loom  pond  to  and  touoh  each  oilier,  tn  order  to 
judge  of  this  definition  let  ai « der,  that  since  equ  i] 

*  s.  ■  Di   8 ;i  til Ileal  Leotui 


68  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

ity  is  a  relation,  it  is  not,  strictly  speaking,  a  property 
in  the  figures  themselves,  but  arises  merely  from  the 
comparison  which  the  mind  makes  betwixt  them.  If  it 
consists,  therefore,  in  this  imaginary  application  and 
mutual  contact  of  parts,  we  must,  at  least,  have  a  dis- 
tinct notion  of  these  parts,  and  must  conceive  their  con- 
tact. Now  it  is  plain,  that  in  this  conception  we  would 
run  up  these  parts  to  the  greatest  minuteness  which  can 
possibly  be  conceived,  since  the  contact  of  large  parts 
would  never  render  the  figures  equal.  But  the  minutest 
parts  we  can  conceive  are  mathematical  points,  and  con- 
sequently this  standard  of  equality  is  the  same  with  that 
derived  from  the  equality  of  the  number  of  points, 
which  we  have  already  determined  to  be  a  just  but  a 
useless  standard.  We  must  therefore  look  to  some  other 
quarter  for  a  solution  of  the  present  diTiculty. 

There  are  many  philosophers,  who  refuse  to  assign 
any  standard  of  equality,  but  assert,  that  it  is  sufficient  to 
present  two  objects,  that  are  equal,  in  order  to  give  us 
a  just  notion  of  this  proportion.  All  definitions,  say  they, 
are  fruitless  without  the  perception  of  such  objects  ;  and 
where  we  perceive  such  objects  we  no  longer  stand  in 
need  of  any  definition.  To  this  reasoning  I  entirely 
agree  ;  and  assert,  that  the  only  useful  notion  of  equality, 
or  inequality,  is  derived  from  the  whole  united  appear- 
ance and  the  comparison  of  particular  objects. 

It  is  evident  that  the  eye,  or  rather  the  mind,  is  often 
able  at  one  view  to  determine  the  proportions  of  bodies, 
and  pronounce  them  equal  to,  or  greater  or  less  than 
each  other,  without  examining  or  comparing  the  num- 
ber of  their  minute  parts.  Such  judgments  are  not  only 
common,  but  in  many  cases  certain  and  infallible. 
When  the  measure  of  a  yard  and  that  of  a  foot  are 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  69 

presented,  the  mind  can  no  more  question,  that  the  first 
is  longer  than  the  second,  than  it  can  doubt  of  those 
principles  which  are  the  most  clear  and  self-evident. 

There  are  therefore  three  proportions,  which  the  mind 
distinguishes  in  the  general  appearance  of  its  objects, 
and  calls  by  the  names  of  greater,  less,  and  equal.  But 
though  its  decisions  concerning  these  proportions  be 
sometimes  infallible,  they  are  not  always  so  ;  nor  are 
our  judgments  of  this  kind  more  exempt  from  doubt 
and  error  than  those  on  any  other  subject.  We  fre- 
quently correct  our  first  opinion  by  a  review  and  reflec- 
tion ;  and  pronounce  those  objects  to  be  equal,  which  at 
first  we  esteemed  unequal ;  and  regard  an  object  as  less, 
though  before  it  appeared  greater  than  another.  Nor  is 
this  the  only  correction  which  these  judgments  of  our 
senses  undergo  ;  but  we  often  discover  our  error  by  a 
juxtaposition  of  the  objects ;  or,  where  that  is  imprac- 
ticable, by  the  use  of  some  common  and  invariable 
measure,  which,  being  successively  applied  to  each, 
informs  us  of  their  different  proportions.  And  even  this 
correction  is  susceptible  of  a  new  correction,  and  of  dif- 
ferent degrees  of  exactness,  according  to  the  nature  of 
the  instrument  by  which  we  measure  the  bodies,  and  the 
care  which  we  employ  in  the  comparison. 

When  therefore  the  mind  is  accustomed  to  these 
judgments  and  their  corrections,  and  finds  that  the  same 
proportion  which  makes  two  figures  have  in  the  eye 
that  appearance,  which  we  call  equality,  makes  them  also 
correspond  to  each  other,  and  to  any  common  measure 
with  which  they  are  compared,  we  form  a  mixed  notion 
of  equality  derived  both  from  the  looser  and  stricter 
methods  of  comparison.  But  we  are  not  content  with 
this.  For  as  sound  reason  convinces  us  that  there  are 
bodies  vastly  more  minute  than  those  which  appear  to 

6* 


70  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

the  senses ;  and  as  a  false  reason  would  persuade  us, 
that  there  are  bodies  infinitely  more  minute,  we  clearly 
perceive  that  we  are  not  possessed  of  any  instrument  or 
art  of  measuring  which  can  secure  us  from  all  error  and 
uncertainty.  We  are  sensible  that  the  addition  or 
removal  of  one  of  these  minute  parts  is  not  discernible 
either  in  the  appearance  or  measuring ;  and  as  we 
j  magine  that  two  figures,  which  were  equal  before,  can- 
not be  equal  after  this  removal  or  addition,  we  therefore 
suppose  some  imaginary  standard  of  equality,  by  which 
the  appearances  and  measuring  are  exactly  corrected, 
and  the  figures  reduced  entirely  to  that  proportion. 
This  standard  is  plainly  imaginary.  For  as  the  very 
idea  of  equality  is  that  of  such  a  particular  appearance, 
corrected  by  juxtaposition  or  a  common  measure,  the 
notion  of  any  correction  beyond  what  we  have  instru- 
ments and  art  to  make,  is  a  mere  fiction  of  the  mind, 
and  useless  as  well  as  incomprehensible.  But  though 
this  standard  be  only  imaginary,  the  fiction  however  is 
very  natural ;  nor  is  any  thing  more  usual,  than  for 
the  mind  to  proceed  after  this  manner  with  any  action, 
even  after  the  reason  has  ceased,  which  first  determined 
it  to  begin.  This  appears  very  conspicuously  with 
regard  to  time ;  where,  though  it  is  evident  we  have  no 
exact  method  of  determining  the  proportions  of  parts, 
not  even  so  exact  as  in  extension,  yet  the  various  cor- 
rections of  our  measures,  and  their  different  degrees  of 
exactness,  have  given  us  an  obscure  and  implicit  notion 
of  a  perfect  and  entire  equality.  The  case  is  the  same 
in  many  other  subjects.  A  musician,  finding  his  ear 
become  every  day  more  delicate,  and  correcting  himself 
by  reflection  and  attention,  proceeds  with  the  same  act 
of  the  mind  even  when  the  subject  fails  him,  and  enter- 
tains a  notion  of  a  complete  tierce  or  octave,  without 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  71 

being  able  to  tell  whence  he  derives  his  standard.  A 
painter  forms  the  same  fiction  with  regard  to  colors ;  a 
mechanic  with  regard  to  motion.  To  the  one  light  and 
shade,  to  the  other  swift  and  slow,  are  imagined  to  be 
capable  of  an  exact  comparison  and  equality  beyond  the 
judgments  of  the  senses. 

We  may  apply  the  same  reasoning  to  curve  and  rigid 
lines.  Nothing  is  more  apparent  to  the  senses  than  the 
distinction  betwixt  a  curve  and  a  right  line  ;  nor  are 
there  any  ideas  we  more  easily  form  than  the  ideas  of 
these  objects.  But  however  easily  we  may  form  these 
ideas,  it  is  impossible  to  produce  any  definition  of  them, 
which  will  ^x  the  precise  boundaries  betwixt  them. 
When  we  draw  lines  upon  paper  or  any  continued  sur- 
face, there  is  a  certain  order  by  which  the  lines  run 
along  from  one  point  to  another,  that  they  may  produce 
the  entire  impression  of  a  curve  or  right  line  ;  but  this 
order  is  perfectly  unknown,  and  nothing  is  observed  but 
the  united  appearance.  Thus,  even  upon  the  system  of 
indivisible  points,  we  can  only  form  a  distant  notion  of 
some  unknown  standard  to  these  objects.  Upon  that  of 
infinite  divisibility  we  cannot  go  even  this  length,  but 
are  reduced  merely  to  the  general  appearance,  as  the 
rule  by  which  we  determine  lines  to  be  either  curve  or 
right  ones.  But  though  we  can  give  no  perfect  defini- 
tion of  these  lines,  nor  produce  any  very  exact  method 
of  distinguishing  the  one  from  the  other,  yet  this  hinders 
us  not  from  correcting  the  first  appearance  by  a  more 
accurate  consideration,  and  by  a  comparison  with  some 
rule,  of  whose  rectitude,  from  repeated  trials,  we  have  a 
greater  assurance.  And  it  is  from  these  corrections, 
and  by  carrying  on  the  same  action  of  the  mind,  even 
when  its  reason  fails  us,  that  we  form  the  loose  idea  of  a 


72  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

perfect  standard  to  these  figures,  without  being  able  to 
explain  or  comprehend  it. 

It  is  true,  mathematicians  pretend  they  give  an  exact 
definition  of  a  right  line  when  they  say,  it  is  the  shortest 
ivay  betwixt  tivo  points.  But  in  the  first  place  I  observe, 
that  this  is  more  properly  the  discovery  of  one  of  the 
properties  of  a  right  line,  than  a  just  definition  of  it. 
For  I  ask  any  one,  if,  upon  mention  of  a  right  line,  he 
thinks  not  immediately  on  such  a  particular  appearance, 
and  if  it  is  not  by  accident  only  that  he  considers  this 
property  ?  A  right  line  can  be  comprehended  alone ; 
but  this  definition  is  unintelligible  without  a  comparison 
with  other  lines,  which  we  conceive  to  be  more  extended. 
In  common  life,  it  is  established  as  a  maxim,  that  the 
straightest  way  is  always  the  shortest ;  which  would  be  as 
absurd  as  to  say,  the  shortest  way  is  always  the  shortest, 
if  our  idea  of  a  right  line  was  not  different  from  that  of 
the  shortest  way  betwixt  two  points. 

Secondly,  I  repeat,  what  I  have  already  established, 
that  we  have  no  precise  idea  of  equality  and  inequality, 
shorter  and  longer,  more  than  of  a  right  line  or  a  curve  ; 
and  consequently  that  the  one  can  never  afford  us  a 
perfect  standard  for  the  other.  An  exact  idea  can 
never  be  built  on  such  as  are  loose  and  undeterminate. 

The  idea  of  a  plain  surface  is  as  little  susceptible  of  a 
precise  standard  as  that  of  a  right  line ;  nor  have  we 
any  other  means  of  distinguishing  such  a  surface,  than 
its  general  appearance.  It  is  in  vain  that  mathemati- 
cians represent  a  plain  surface  as  produced  by  the  flow- 
ing of  a  right  line.  It  will  immediately  be  objected, 
that  our  idea  of  a  surface  is  as  independent  of  this 
method  of  forming  a  surface,  as  our  idea  of  an  ellipse  is 
of  that  of  a  cone ;   that  the  idea  of  a  right  line  is  no 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  73 

more  precise  than  that  of  a  plain  surface ;  that  a  right  line 
may  flow  irregularly,  and  by  that  means  form  a  figure 
quite  different  from  a  plane ;  and  that  therefore  we  must 
suppose  it  to  flow  along  two  right  lines,  parallel  to  each 
other,  and  on  the  same  plane  ;  which  is  a  description 
that  explains  a  thing  by  itself,  and  returns  in  a  circle. 

It  appears,  then,  that  the  ideas  which  are  most  essen- 
tial to  geometry,  viz.  those  of  equality  and  inequality,  of 
a  right  line  and  a  plain  surface,  are  far  from  being  exact 
and  determinate,  according  to  our  common  method  of 
conceiving  them.  Not  only  we  are  incapable  of  telling 
if  the  case  be  in  any  degree  doubtful,  when  such 
particular  figures  are  equal ;  when  such  a  line  is  a 
right  one,  and  such  a  surface  a  plain  one ;  but  we  can 
form  no  idea  of  that  proportion,  or  of  these  figures, 
which  is  firm  and  invariable.  Our  appeal  is  still  to  the 
weak  and  fallible  judgment,  which  we  make  from  the 
appearance  of  the  objects,  and  correct  by  a  compass,  or 
common  measure  ;  and  if  we  join  the  supposition  of  any 
further  correction,  it  is  of  such  a  one  as  is  either  useless 
or  imaginary.  In  vain  should  we  have  recourse  to  the 
common  topic,  and*  employ  the  supposition  of  a  Deity, 
whose  omnipotence  may  enable  him  to  form  a  perfect 
geometrical  figure,  and  describe  a  right  line  without  any 
curve  or  inflection.  As  the  ultimate  standard  of  these 
figures  is  derived  from  nothing  but  the  senses  and  im- 
agination, it  is  absurd  to  talk  of  any  perfection  beyond 
what  these  faculties  can  judge  of;  since  the  true  perfec- 
tion of  any  thing  consists  in  its  conformity  to  its  standard. 

Now,  since  these  ideas  are  so  loose  and  uncertain,  I 
would  fain  ask  any  mathematician,  what  infallible  assur- 
ance he  has,  not  only  of  the  more  intricate  and  obscure 
propositions  of  his  science,  but  of  the  most  vulgar  and 
obvious   principles?      How  can  he   prove   to   me,  for 


74  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

instance,  that  two  right  lines  cannot  have  one  common 
segment  ?  Or  that  it  is  impossible  to  draw  more  than 
one  right  line  betwixt  any  two  points  ?  Should  he  tell 
me,  that  these  opinions  are  obviously  absurd,  and  repug- 
nant to  our  clear  ideas ;  I  would  answer,  that  I  do  not 
deny,  where  two  right  lines  incline  upon  each  other 
with  a  sensible  angle,  but  it  is  absurd  to  imagine  them  to 
have  a  common  segment.  But  supposing  these  two  lines 
to  approach  at  the  rate  of  an  inch  in  twenty  leagues,  I  per- 
ceive no  absurdity  in  asserting,  that  upon  their  contact 
they  become  one.  For,  I  beseech  you,  by  what  rule  or 
standard  do  you  judge,  when  you  assert  that  the  line, 
in  which  I  have  supposed  them  to  concur,  cannot  make 
the  same  right  line  with  those  two,  that  form  so  small 
an  angle  betwixt  them  ?  You  must  surely  have  some 
idea  of  a  right  line,  to  whrch  this  line  does  not  agree. 
Do  you  therefore  mean,  that  it  takes  not  the  points  in 
the  same  order  and  by  the  same  rule,  as  is  peculiar  and 
essential  to  a  right  line  ?  If  so,  I  must  inform  you,  that 
besides  that,  in  judging  after  this  manner,  you  allow 
that  extension  is  composed  of  indivisible  points  (which, 
perhaps,  is  more  than  you  intend),  besides  this,  I  say,  I 
must  inform  you,  that  neither  is  this  the  standard  from 
which  we  form  the  idea  of  a  right  line;  nor,  if  it  were, 
is  there  any  such  firmness  in  our  senses  or  imagination, 
as  to  determine  when  such  an  order  is  violated  or  pre- 
served. The  original  standard  of  a  right  line  is  in  reality 
nothing  but  a  certain  general  appearance ;  and  it  is  evi- 
dent right  lines  may  be  made  to  concur  with  each  other, 
and  yet  correspond  to  this  standard,  though  corrected 
by  all  the  means  either  practicable  or  imaginable. 

To  whatever  side  mathematicians  turn,  this  dilemma 
still  meets  them.  If  they  judge  of  equality,  or  any 
other  proportion,  by  the  accurate  and  exact  standard, 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  75 

viz.  the  enumeration  of  the  minute  indivisible  parts, 
they  both  employ  a  standard,  which  is  useless  in  prac- 
tice, and  actually  establish  the  indivisibility  of  extension, 
which  they  endeavor  to  explode.  Or  if  they  employ,  as 
is  usual,  the  inaccurate  standard,  derived  from  a  com- 
parison of  objects,  upon  their  general  appearance,  cor- 
rected by  measuring  and  juxtaposition ;  their  first  prin- 
ciples, though  certain  and  infallible,  are  too  coarse  to 
afford,  any  such  subtile  inferences  as  they  commonly 
draw  from  them.  The  first  principles  are  founded  on  the 
imagination  and  senses;  the  conclusion  therefore  can 
never  go  beyond,  much  less  contradict,  these  faculties. 

This  may  open  our  eyes  a  little,  and  let  us  see,  that 
no  geometrical  demonstration  for  the  infinite  divisibility 
of  extension  can  have  so  much  force  as  what  we  natu- 
rally attribute  to  every  argument,  which  is  supported  by 
such  magnificent  pretensions.  At  the  same  time  we 
may  learn  the  reason,  why  geometry  fails  of  evidence 
in  this  single  point,  while  all  its  other  reasonings  com- 
mand our  fullest  assent  and  approbation.  And  indeed 
it  seems  more  requisite  to  give  the  reason  of  this  excep- 
tion, than  to  show  that  we  really  must  make  such  an 
exception,  and  regard  all  the  mathematical  arguments 
for  infinite  divisibility  as  utterly  sophistical.  For  it  is 
evident,  that  as  no  idea  of  quantity  is  infinitely  divisi- 
ble, there-  cannot  be  imagined  a  more  glaring  absurdity, 
than  to  endeavor  to  prove,  that  quantity  itself  admits  of 
such  a  division ;  and  to  prove  this  by  means  of  ideas, 
which  are  directly  opposite  in  that  particular.  And  as 
this  absurdity  is  very  glaring  in  itself,  so  there  is  no 
argument  founded  on  it,  which  is  not  attended  with  a 
new  absurdity,  and  involves  not  an  evident  contradiction. 

I  might  give  as  instances  those  arguments  for  infinite 
divisibility,  which  are  derived  from  the  point  of  contact. 


76  OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

I  know  there  is  no  mathematician,  who  will  not  refuse 
to  be  judged  by  the  diagrams  he  describes  upon  paper, 
these  being  loose  draughts,  as  he  w7ill  tell  us,  and  serving 
only  to  convey  with  greater  facility  certain  ideas,  which 
are  the  true  foundation  of  all  our  reasoning.  This  I  am 
satisfied  with,  and  am  willing  to  rest  the  controversy 
merely  upon  these  ideas.  I  desire  therefore  our  mathe- 
matician to  form,  as  accurately  as  possible,  the  ideas  of 
a  circle  and  a  right  line  5  and  I  then  ask,  if  upon  the 
conception  of  their  contact  he  can  conceive  them  as 
touching  in  a  mathematical  point,  or  if  he  must  neces- 
sarily imagine  them  to  concur  for  some  space.  Which- 
ever side  he  chooses,  he  runs  himself  into  equal  difficul- 
ties. If  he  affirms,  that  in  tracing  these  figures  in  his 
imagination,  he  can  imagine  them  to  touch  only  in  a 
point,  he  allows  the  possibility  of  that  idea,  and  conse- 
quently of  the  thing.  If  he  says,  that  in  his  conception 
of  the  contact  of  those  lines  he  must  make  them  concur, 
he  thereby  acknowledges  the  fallacy  of  geometrical 
demonstrations,  when  carried  beyond  a  certain  degree 
of  minuteness;  since,  it  is  certain  he  has  such  demonstra- 
tions against  the  concurrence  of  a  circle  and  a  right 
line ;  that  is,  in  other  words,  he  can  prove  an  idea,  viz. 
that  of  concurrence,  to  be  incompatible  with  two  other 
ideas,  viz.  those  of  a  circle  and  right  line ;  though  at  the 
same  time  he  acknowledges  these  ideas  to  be  inseparable. 


SECTION   V. 

THE  SAME  SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 

If  the  second  part  of  my  system  be  true,  that  the  idea 
of  space  or  extension  is  nothing  but  the  idea  of  visible  or  tan- 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  77 

gible  points  distributed  in  a  certain  order,  it  follows,  that  we 
can  form  no  idea  of  a  vacuum,  or  space,  where  there  is 
nothing  visible  or  tangible.  This  gives  rise  to  three 
objections,  which  I  shall  examine  together,  because  the 
answer  I  shall  give  to  one  is  a  consequence  of  that  which 
I  shall  make  use  of  for  the  others. 

First,  it  may  be  said,  that  men  have  disputed  for 
many  ages  concerning  a  vacuum  and  a  plenum,  without 
being  able  to  bring  the  affair  to  a  final  decision :  and 
philosophers,  even  at  this  day,  think  themselves  at  lib- 
erty to  take  party  on  either  side,  as  their  fancy  leads 
them.  But  whatever  foundation  there  may  be  for  a 
controversy  concerning  the  things  themselves,  it  may  be 
pretended  that  the  very  dispute  is  decisive  concerning 
the  idea,  and  that  it  is  impossible  men  could  so  long 
reason  about  a  vacuum,  and  either  refute  or  defend 
it,  without  having  a  notion  of  what  they  refuted  or 
defended. 

Secondly,  if  this  argument  should  be  contested,  the 
reality,  or  at  least  possibility,  of  the  idea  of  a  vacuum, 
may  be  proved  by  the  following  reasoning.  Every  idea 
is  possible  which  is  a  necessary  and  infallible  conse- 
quence of  such  as  are  possible.  Now,  though  we  allow 
the  world  to  be  at  present  a  plenum,  we  may  easily 
conceive  it  to  be  deprived  of  motion ;  and  this  idea  will 
certainly  be  allowed  possible.  It  must  also  be  allowed 
possible,  to  conceive  the  annihilation  of  any  part  of 
matter  by  the  omnipotence  of  the  Deity,  while  the 
other  parts  remain  at  rest.  For  as  every  idea  that  is 
distinguishable  is  separable  by  the  imagination,  and  as 
every  idea  that  is  separable  by  the  imagination  may  be 
conceived  to  be  separately  existent,  it  is  evident,  that 
the  existence  of  one  particle  of  matter  no  more  implies 
the  existence  of  another,  than  a  square  figure  in  one 

vol.  i.  7 


78  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

body  implies  a  square  figure  in  every  one.  This  being 
granted,  I  now  demand  what  results  from  the  concur- 
rence of  these  two  possible  ideas  of  rest  and  annihilation, 
and  what  must  we  conceive  to  follbw  upon  the  annihila- 
tion of  all  the  air  and  subtile  matter  in  the  chamber, 
supposing  the  walls  to  remain  the  same,  without  any 
motion  or  alteration?  There  are  some  metaphysicians 
who  answer,  that  since  matter  and  extension  are  the 
same,  the  annihilation  of  the  one  necessarily  implies 
that  of  the  other;  and  there  being  now  no  distance 
betwixt  the  walls  of  the  chamber,  they  touch  each 
other ;  in  the  same  manner  as  my  hand  touches  the 
paper  which  is  immediately  before  me.  But  though 
this  answer  be  very  common,  I  defy  these  metaphysi- 
cians to  conceive  the  matter  according  to  their  hypo- 
thesis, or  imagine  the  floor  and  roof,  with  all  the  opposite 
sides  of  the  chamber,  to  touch  each  other,  while  they 
continue  in  rest,  and  preserve  the  same  position.  For 
how  can  the  two  walls,  that  run  from  south  to  north, 
touch  each  other,  while  they  touch  the  opposite  ends  of 
two  walls  that  run  from  east  to  west  ?  And  how  can 
the  floor  and  roof  ever  meet,  while  they  are  separated 
by  the  four  walls  that  lie  in  a  contrary  position  ?  If 
you  change  their  position,  you  suppose  a  motion.  If 
you  conceive  any  thing  betwixt  them,  you  suppose  a 
new  creation.  But  keeping  strictly  to  the  two  ideas  of 
rest  and  annihilation,  it  is  evident,  that  the  idea  which 
results  from  them  is  not  that  of  a  contact  of  parts,  but 
something  else,  which  is  concluded  to  be  the  idea  of  a 
vacuum. 

The  third  objection  carries  the  matter  still  further, 
and  not  only  asserts,  that  the  idea  of  a  vacuum  is  real 
and  possible,  but  also  necessary  and  unavoidable.  This 
assertion  is  founded  on  the  motion  wTe  observe  in  bodies, 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  79 

which,  it  is  maintained,  would  be  impossible  and  incon- 
ceivable without  a  vacuum,  into  which  one  body  must 
move  in  order  to  make  way  for  another.  I  shall  not 
enlarge  upon  this  objection,  because  it  principally 
belongs  to  natural  philosophy,  which  lies  without  our 
present  sphere. 

In  order  to  answer  these  objections,  we  must  take  the 
matter  pretty  deep,  and  consider  the  nature  and  origin 
of  several  ideas,  lest  we  dispute  without  understanding 
perfectly  the  subject  of  the  controversy.  It  is  evident 
the  idea  of  darkness  is  no  positive  idea,  but  merely  the 
negation  of  light,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  of  colored 
and  visible  objects.  A  man  who  enjoys  his  sight,  receives 
no  other  perception  from  turning  his  eyes  on  every  side, 
when  entirely  deprived  of  light,  than  what  is  common 
to  him  with  one  born  blind ;  and  it  is  certain  such  a 
one  has  no  idea  either  of  light  or  darkness.  The  con- 
sequence of  this  is,  that  it  is  not  from  the  mere  removal 
of  visible  objects  we  receive  the  impression  of  extension 
without  matter ;  and  that  the  idea  of  utter  darkness  can 
never  be  the  same  with  that  of  vacuum. 

Suppose,  again,  a  man  to  be  supported  in  the  air,  and 
to  be  softly  conveyed  along  by  some  invisible  power ; 
it  is  evident  he  is  sensible  of  nothing,  and  never  receives 
the  idea  of  extension,  nor  indeed  any  idea,  from  this 
invariable  motion.  Even  supposing  he  moves  his  limbs 
to  and  fro,  this  cannot  convey  to  him  that  idea.  He 
feels  in  that  case  a  certain  sensation  or  impression,  the 
parts  of  which  are  successive  to  each  other,  and  may 
give  him  the  idea  of  time,  but  certainly  are  not  dis- 
posed in  such  a  manner  as  is  necessary  to  convey  the 
idea  of  space  or  extension. 

Since,  then,  it  appears  that  darkness  and  motion,  with 
the  utter  removal  of  every  thing  visible  and  tangible, 


80  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

can  never  give  us  the  idea  of  extension  without  matter, 
or  of  a  vacuum  5  the  next  question  is,  whether  they  can 
convey  this  idea,  when  mixed  with  something  visible 
and  tangible  ? 

It  is  commonly  allowed  by  philosophers,  that  all  bodies 
which  discover  themselves  to  the  eye,  appear  as  if  painted 
on  a  plain  surface,  and  that  their  different  degrees  of 
remoteness  from  ourselves  are  discovered  more  by  rea- 
son than  by  the  senses.  When  I  hold  up  my  hand 
before  me,  and  spread  my  fingers,  they  are  separated  as 
perfectly  by  the  blue  color  of  the  firmament,  as  they 
could  be  by  any  visible  object  which  I  could  place 
betwixt  them.  In  order,  therefore,  to  know  whether  the 
sight  can  convey  the  impression  and  idea  of  a  vacuum, 
we  must  suppose,  that  amidst  an  entire  darkness,  there 
are  luminous  bodies  presented  to  us,  whose  light  discovers 
only  these  bodies  themselves,  without  giving  us  any  im- 
pression of  the  surrounding  objects. 

We  must  form  a  parallel  supposition  concerning  the 
objects  of  our  feeling.  It  is  not  proper  to  suppose  a 
perfect  removal  of  all  tangible  objects :  we  must  allow 
something  to  be  perceived  by  the  feeling ;  and  after  an 
interval  and  motion  of  the  hand  or  other  organ  of  sen- 
sation, another  object  of  the  touch  to  be  met  with ;  and 
upon  leaving  that,  another ;  and  so  on,  as  often  as  we 
please.  The  question  is,  whether  these  intervals  do  not 
afford  us  the  idea  of  extension  without  body  ? 

To  begin  with  the  first  case ;  it  is  evident,  that  when 
only  two  luminous  bodies  appear  to  the  eye,  we  can 
perceive  whether  they  be  conjoined  or  separate  •  whe- 
ther they  be  separated  by  a  great  or  small  distance ; 
and  if  this  distance  varies,  we  can  perceive  its  increase 
or  diminution,  with  the  motion  of  the  bodies.  But  as 
the  distance  is  not  in  this  case  any  thing  colored  or 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  81 

visible,  it  may  be  thought  that  there  is  here  a  vacuum 
or  pure  extension,  not  only  intelligible  to  the  mind,  but 
obvious  to  the  very  senses. 

This  is  our  natural  and  most  familiar  way  of  think- 
ing, but  which  we  shall  learn  to  correct  by  a  little  reflec- 
tion. We  may  observe,  that  when  two  bodies  present 
themselves,  where  there  was  formerly  an  entire  dark- 
ness, the  only  change  that  is  discoverable  is  in  the  ap- 
pearance of  these  two  objects,  and  that  all  the  rest  con- 
tinues to  be  as  before,  a  perfect  negation  of  light,  and  of 
every  colored  or  visible  object.  This  is  not  only  true  of 
what  may  be  said  to  be  remote  from  these  bodies,  but 
also  of  the  very  distance  which  is  interposed  betwixt 
them  ;  that  being  nothing  but  darkness,  or  the  negation 
of  light ;  without  parts,  without  composition,  invariable 
and  indivisible.  Now,  since  this  distance  causes  no  per- 
ception different  from  what  a  blind  man  receives  from 
his  eyes,  or  what  is  conveyed  to  us  in  the  darkest  night, 
it  must  partake  of  the  same  properties ;  and  as  blind- 
ness and  darkness  afford  us  no  ideas  of  extension,  it  is 
impossible  that  the  dark  and  undistinguishable  distance 
betwixt  two  bodies  can  ever  produce  that  idea. 

The  sole  difference  betwixt  an  absolute  darkness  and 
the  appearance  of  two  or  more  visible  luminous  objects 
consists,  as  I  said,  in  the  objects  themselves,  and  in  the 
manner  they  affect  our  senses.  The  angles,  which  the 
rays  of  light  flowing  from  them  form  with  each  other ; 
the  motion  that  is  required  in  the  eye,  in  its  passage 
from  one  to  the  other ;  and  the  different  parts  of  the 
organs  which  are  affected  by  them ;  these  produce  the 
only  perceptions  from  which  we  can  judge  of  the  dis- 
tance. But  as  these  perceptions  are  each  of  them 
simple  and  indivisible,  they  can  never  give  us  the  idea 
of  extension. 

7  * 


82  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

We  may  illustrate  this  by  considering  the  sense  of 
feeling,  and  the  imaginary  distance  or  interval  inter- 
posed betwixt  tangible  or  solid  objects.  I  suppose  two 
cases,  viz.  that  of  a  man  supported  in  the  air,  and  mov- 
ing his  limbs  to  and  fro,  without  meeting  any  thing  tan- 
gible ;  and  that  of  a  man,  who,  feeling  something  tangi- 
ble, leaves  it,  and,  after  a  motion  of  which  he  is  sensi- 
ble, perceives  another  tangible  object ;  and  I  then  ask, 
wherein  consists  the  difference  betwixt  these  two  cases  ? 
No  one  will  make  any  scruple  to  affirm,  that  it  consists 
merely  in  the  perceiving  those  objects,  and  that  the 
sensation,  which  arises  from  the  motion,  is  in  both  cases 
the  same ;  and  as  that  sensation  is  not  capable  of  con- 
veying to  us  an  idea  of  extension,  when  unaccompanied 
with  some  other  perception,  it  can  no  more  give  us  that 
idea,  when  mixed  with  the  impressions  of  tangible  objects, 
since  that  mixture  produces  no  alteration  upon  it. 

But  though  motion  and  darkness,  either  alone  or  at- 
tended with  tangible  and  visible  objects,  convey  no  idea 
of  a  vacuum  or  extension  without  matter,  yet  they  are 
the  causes  why  we  falsely  imagine  we  can  form  such  an 
idea.  For  there  is  a  close  relation  betwixt  that  motion 
and  darkness,  and  a  real  extension,  or  composition  of 
visible  and  tangible  objects. 

First,  we  may  observe,  that  two  visible  objects,  appear- 
ing in  the  midst  of  utter  darkness,  affect  the  senses  in 
the  same  manner,  and  form  the  same  angle  by  the  rays 
which  flow  from  them,  and  meet  in  the  eye,  as  if  the 
distance  betwixt  them  were  filled  with  visible  objects, 
that  ^five  us  a  true  idea  of  extension.  The  sensation  of 
motion  is  likewise  the  same,  when  there  is  nothing  tan- 
gible interposed  betwixt  two  bodies,  as  when  we  feel  a 
compounded  body,  whose  different  parts  are  placed 
beyond  each  other. 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  83 

Secondly,  we  find  by  experience,  tha"  two  bodies, 
which  are  so  placed  as  to  affect  the  sens  in  the  Fame 
manner  with  two  others,  that  have  a  certain  extent  of 
visible  objects  interposed  betwixt  them,  are  capable  of 
receiving  the  same  extent,  without  any  sensible  impulse 
or  penetration,  and  without  any  change  on  that  angle, 
under  which  they  appear  to  the  senses.  In  1  k^  ma  11  er, 
where  there  is  one  object,  which  we  cannot  feel  after 
another  without  an  interval,  and  the  perceiving  of  that 
sensation  we  call  motion  in  our  hand  or  organ  of  sensa- 
tion ;  experience  shows  us,  that  it  is  possible  the  same 
object  may  be  felt  with  the  same  sensation  of  motion, 
along  with  the  interposed  impression  of  solid  .  n  tangi- 
ble objects,  attending  the  sensation.  Tha :  is,  in  other 
words,  an  nvis  ble  and  intangible  distance  may  be  con- 
verted into  a  visible  and  tangible  one,  without  any 
change  on  the  distant  objects. 

Thirdly,  we  may  observe,  as  anoth6r  relation  betwixt 
these  two  kinds  of  cistance,  that  they  have  nearly  the 
same  effects  on  every  natural  phenomenon.  For  as 
all  qualities,  such  as  heat,  cold,  light,  attraction,  etc., 
diminish  in  proportion  to  the  distance;  there  is  but 
little  difference  observed,  whether  this  distance  be 
marked  out  by  compounded  and  sensible  objects,  or  be 
known  only  by  the  manner  in  which  the  distant  objects 
affect  the  senses. 

Here  then  are  three  relations  betwixt  that  distance, 
which  conveys  the  idea  of  extension,  and  that  other, 
which  is  not  filled  with  any  colored  or  solid  object. 
The  distant  objects  affect  the  senses  in  the  same  manner, 
whether  separated  by  the  one  distance  or  the  other;  the 
second  species  of  distance  is  found  capable  of  receiving 
the  first ;  and  they  both  equally  diminish  the  force  of 
every  quality. 


84  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

These  relations  betwixt  the  two  kinds  of  distance, 
will  afford  us  an  easy  reason  why  the  one  has  so  often 
been  taken  for  the  other,  and  why  we  imagine  we  have 
an  idea  of  extension  without  the  idea  of  any  object 
either  of  the  sight  or  feeling.  For  we  may  establish  it 
as  a  general  maxim  in  this  science  of  human  nature, 
that  wherever  there  is  a  close  relation  betwixt  two  ideas, 
the  mind  is  very  apt  to  mistake  them,  and  in  all  its  dis- 
courses and  reasonings  to  use  the  one  for  the  other. 
This  phenomenon  occurs  on  so  many  occasions,  and  is 
of  such  consequence,  that  I  cannot  forbear  stopping  a 
moment  to  examine  its  causes.  I  shall  only  premise, 
that  we  must  distinguish  exactly  betwixt  the  phenome- 
non itself,  and  the  causes  which  I  shall  assign  for  it ; 
and  must  not  imagine,  from  any  uncertainty  in  the  lat- 
ter, that  the  former  is  also  uncertain.  The  phenome- 
non may  be  real,  though  my  explication  be  chimerical. 
The  falsehood  of  the  one  is  no  consequence  of  that  of 
the  other;  though  at  the  same  time  we  may  observe, 
that  it  is  very  natural  for  us  to  draw  such  a  conse- 
quence ;  wThich  is  an  evident  instance  of  that  very  prin- 
ciple, which  I  endeavor  to  explain. 

When  I  received  the  relations  of  resemblance,  contiguity, 
and  causation,  as  principles  of  union  among  ideas,  with- 
out examining  into  their  causes,  it  was  more  in  prosecu- 
tion of  my  first  maxim,  that  we  must  in  the  end  rest 
contented  with  experience,  than  for  want  of  something 
specious  and  plausible,  which  I  might  have  displayed  on 
that  subject.  It  would  have  been  easy  to  have  made  an 
imaginary  dissection  of  the  brain,  and  have  shown,  why, 
upon  our  conception  of  any  idea,  the  animal  spirits  run 
into  all  the  contiguous  traces,  and  rouse  up  the  other 
ideas  that  are  related  to  it.  But  though  I  have  neglected 
any  advantage,  which  I  might  have  drawn  from  this 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  85 

topic  in  explaining  the  relations  of  ideas,  T  am  afraid  I 
must  here  have  recourse  to  it,  in  order  to  account  for 
the  mistakes  that  arise  from  these  relations.  I  shall 
therefore  observe,  that  as  the  mind  is  endowed  with  a 
a  power-  of  exciting  any  idea  it  pleases ;  whenever  it 
despatches  the  spirits  into  that  region  of  the  brain,  in 
which  the  idea  is  placed;  these  spirits  always  excite  the 
idea,  when  they  run  precisely  into  the  proper  traces, 
and  rummage  that  cell,  which  belongs  to  the  idea.  But 
as  their  motion  is  seldom  direct,  and  naturally  turns  a 
little  to  the  one  side  or  the  other ;  for  this  reason  the 
animal  spirits,  falling  into  the  contiguous  traces,  present 
other  related  ideas,  in  lieu  of  that  which  the  mind 
desired  at  first  to  survey.  This  change  we  are  not 
always  sensible  of;  but  continuing  still  the  same  train 
of  thought,  make  use  of  the  related  idea,  which  is  pre- 
sented to  us,  and  employ  it  in  our  reasoning,  as  if  it 
were  the  same  with  what  we  demanded.  This  is  the 
cause  of  many  mistakes  and  sophisms  in  philosophy;  as 
will  naturally  be  imagined,  and  as  it  would  be  easy  to 
show,  if  there  was  occasion. 

Of  the  three  relations  above  mentioned  that  of  resem- 
blance is  the  most  fertile  source  of  error;  and  indeed 
there  are  few  mistakes  in  reasoning,  which  do  not  bor- 
row largely  from  that  origin.  Eesembling  ideas  are  not 
only  related  together,  but  the  actions  of  the  mind,  which 
we  employ  in  considering  them,  are  so  little  different, 
that  we  are  not  able  to  distinguish  them.  This  last  cir- 
cumstance is  of  great  consequence ;  and  we  may  in  gen- 
eral observe,  that  wherever  the  actions  of  the  mind  in 
forming  any  two  ideas  are  the  same  or  resembling,  we 
are  very  apt  to  confound  these  ideas,  and  take  the  one 
for  the  other.  Of  this  we  shall  see  many  instances  in 
the  progress  of  this  treatise.     But  though  resemblance 


86  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

be  the  relation,  which  most  readily  produces  a  mistake 
in  ideas,  yet  the  others  of  causation  and  contiguity  may 
also  concur  in  the  same  influence.  We  might  produce 
the  figures  of  poets  and  orators,  as  sufficient  proofs  of 
this,  were  it  as  usual  as  it  is  reasonable,  in  metaphysical 
subjects,  to  draw  our  arguments  from  that  quarter.  But 
lest  metaphysicians  should  esteem  this  below  their  dig- 
nity, I  shall  borrow  a  proof  from  an  observation,  which 
may  be  made  on  most  of  their  own  discourses,  viz.  that 
it  is  usual  for  men  to  use  words  for  ideas,  and  to  talk 
instead  of  thinking  in  their  reasonings.  We  use  words 
for  ideas,  because  they  are  commonly  so  closely  con- 
nected, that  the  mind  easily  mistakes  them.  And  this 
likewise  is  the  reason,  why  we  substitute  the  idea  of  a 
distance,  which  is  not  considered  either  as  visible  or  tan- 
gible, in  the  room  of  extension,  which  is  nothing  but  a 
composition  of  visible  or  tangible  points  disposed  in  a 
certain  order.  In  causing  this  mistake  there  concur 
both  the  relations  of  causation  and  resemblance.  As  the 
first  species  of  distance  is  found  to  be  convertible  into  the 
second,  it  is  in  this  respect  a  kind  of  cause  ;  and  the  simi- 
larity of  their  manner  of  affecting  the  senses,  and  dimin- 
ishing every  quality,  forms  the  relation  of  resemblance. 

After  this  chain  of  reasoning  and  explication  of  my 
principles,  I  am  now  prepared  to  answer  all  the  objec- 
tions that  have  been  offered,  whether  derived  from  meta- 
physics or  mechanics.  The  frequent  disputes  concerning 
a  vacuum,  or  extension  without  matter,  prove  not  the 
reality  of  the  idea,  upon  which  the  dispute  turns ;  there 
being  nothing  more  common,  than  to  see  men  deceive 
themselves  in  this  particular;  especially  when,  by  means 
of  any  close  relation,  there  is  another  idea  presented, 
which  may  be  the  occasion  of  their  mistake. 

We  may  make  almost  the  same  answer  to  the  second 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  87 

objection,  derived  from  the  conjunction  of  the  ideas  of 
rest  and  annihilation.  When  every  thing  is  annihilated 
in  the  chamber,  and  the  walls  continue  immovable,  the 
chamber  must  be  conceived  much  in  the  same  manner 
as  at  present,  when  the  air  that  fills  it  is  not  an  object 
of  the  senses.  This  annihilation  leaves  to  the  eye  that 
fictitious  distance,  which  is  discovered  by  the  different 
parts  of  the  organ  that  are  affected,  and  by  the  degrees 
of  light  and  shade ;  and  to  the  feeling,  that  which  consists 
in  a  sensation  of  motion  in  the  hand,  or  other  member 
of  the  body.  In  vain  should  we  search  any  further. 
On  whichever  side  we  turn  this  subject,  we  shall  find 
that  these  are  the  only  impressions  such  an  object  can 
produce  after  the  supposed  annihilation;  and  it  has 
already  been  remarked,  that  impressions  can  give  rise  to 
no  ideas,  but  to  such  as  resemble  them. 

Since  a  body  interposed  betwixt  two  others  may 
be  supposed  to  be  annihilated,  without  producing  any 
change  upon  such  as  lie  on  each  hand  of  it,  it  is  easily 
conceived  how  it  may  be  created  anew,  and  yet  produce 
as  little  alteration.  Now  the  motion  of  a  body  has 
much  the  same  effect  as  its  creation.  The  distant  bodies 
are  no  more  affected  in  the  one  case,  than  in  the  other. 
This  suffices  to  satisfy  the  imagination,  and  proves  there 
is  no  repugnance  in  such  a  motion.  Afterwards  expe- 
rience comes  in  play  to  persuade  us  that  two  bodies, 
situated  in  the  manner  above  described,  have  really  such 
a  capacity  of  receiving  body  betwixt  them,  and  that 
there  is  no  obstacle  to  the  conversion  of  the  invisible 
and  intangible  distance  into  one  that  is  visible  and  tan- 
gible. However  natural  that  conversion  may  seem,  we 
cannot  be  sure  it  is  practicable,  before  we  have  had 
experience  of  it. 

Thus  I  seem  to  .%  have  answered  the  three  objections 


88  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

above  mentioned ;  though  at  the  same  time  I  am  sensi- 
ble, that  few  will  be  satisfied  with  these  answers,  but 
will  immediately  propose  new  objections  and  difficulties. 
It  will  probably  be  said,  that  my  reasoning  makes 
nothing  to  the  matter  in  hand,  and  that  I  explain  only 
the  manner  in  which  objects  affect  the  senses,  without 
endeavoring  to  account  for  their  real  nature  and  opera- 
tions. Though  there  be  nothing  visible  or  tangible 
interposed  betwixt  two  bodies,  yet  we  find  by  experience, 
that  the  bodies  may  be  placed  in  the  same  manner,  with 
regard  to  the  eye,  and  require  the  same  motion  of  the 
hand  in  passing  from  one  to  the  other,  as  if  divided  by 
something  visible  and  tangible.  This  invisible  and  in- 
tangible distance  is  also  found  by  experience  to  contain  a 
capacity  of  receiving  body,  or  of  becoming  visible  and 
tangible.  Here  is  the  whole  of  my  system ;  and  in  no 
part  of  it  have  I  endeavored  to  explain  the  cause  which 
separates  bodies  after  this  manner,  and  gives  them  a 
capacity  of  receiving  others  betwixt  them,  without  any 
impulse  or  penetration. 

I  answer  this  objection  by  pleading  guilty,  and  by 
confessing  that  my  intention  never  was  to  penetrate 
into  the  nature  of  bodies,  or  explain  the  secret  causes 
of  their  operations.  For,  besides  that  this  belongs  not 
to  my  present  purpose,  I  am  afraid,  that  such  an  enter- 
prise is  beyond  the  reach  of  human  understanding,  and 
that  we  can  never  pretend  to  know  body  otherwise  than 
by  those  external  properties,  which  discover  themselves 
to  the  senses.  As  to  those  who  attempt  any  thing 
further,  I  cannot  approve  of  their  ambition,  till  I  see,  in 
some  one  instance  at  least,  that  they  have  met  with 
success.  But  at  present  I  content  myself  with  know- 
ing perfectly  the  manner  in  wThich  objects  affect  my 
senses,  and  their  connections  with  each  other,  as  far  as 


OF   THE  UNDERSTANDING.  89 

experience  informs  me  of  them.  This  suffices  for  the 
conduct  of  life ;  and  this  also  suffices  for  my  philosophy, 
which  pretends  only  to  explain  the  nature  and  causes 
of  our  perceptions,  or  impressions  and  ideas.* 

I  shall  conclude  this  subject  of  extension  with  a  para- 
dox, which  will  easily  be  explained  from  the  foregoing 
reasoning.  This  paradox  is,  that  if  you  are  pleased  to 
give  to  the  invisible  and  intangible  distance,  or,  in  other 
words,  to  the  capacity  of  becoming  a  visible  and  tangi- 
ble distance,  the  name  of  a  vacuum,  extension  and 
matter  are  the  same,  and  yet  there  is  a  vacuum.     If 


*  As  long  as  we  confine  our  speculations  to  the  appearances  of  objects  to 
our  senses,  without  entering  into  disquisitions  concerning  their  real  nature 
and  operations,  we  are  safe  from  all  difficulties,  and  can  never  be  embarrassed 
by  any  question.  Thus,  if  it  be  asked,  if  the  invisible  and  intangible  distance 
interposed  betwixt  two  objects,  be  something  or  nothing:  it  is  easy  to  answer, 
that  it  is  something,  viz.  a  property  of  the  objects,  which  affect  the  senses  after 
such  a  particular  manner.  If  it  be  asked,  whether  two  objects  having  such  a 
distance  betwixt  them,  touch  or  not :  it  may  be  answered,  that  this  depends 
upon  the  definition  of  the  word  touch.  If  objects  be  said  to  touch,  when 
there  is  nothing  sensible  interposed  betwixt  them,  these  objects  touch.  If 
objects  be  said  to  touch,  when  their  images  strike  contiguous  parts-  of  the  eye, 
and  when  the  hand  feels  both  objects  successively,  without  any  interposed 
motion,  these  objects  do  not  touch.  The  appearances  of  objects  to  our  senses 
are  all  consistent ;  and  no  difficulties  can  ever  arise,  but  from  the  obscurity  of 
the  terms  we  make  use  of. 

If  we  carry  our  inquiry  beyond  the  appearances  of  objects  to  the  senses,  I 
am  afraid  that  most  of  our  conclusions  will  be  full  of  scepticism  and  uncer- 
tainty. Thus,  if  it  be  asked,  whether  or  not  the  invisible  and  intangible  dis- 
tance be  always  full  of  body,  or  of  something  that  by  an  improvement  of  our 
organs  might  become  visible  or  tangible,  I  must  acknowledge,  that  I  find  no 
very  decisive  arguments  on  either  side :  though  I  am  inclined  to  the  contrary 
opinion,  as  being  more  suitable  to  vulgar  and  popular  notions.  If  the  Newto- 
nian philosophy  be  rightly  understood,  it  will  be  found  to  mean  no  more.  A 
vacuum  is  asserted ;  that  is,  bodies  are  said  to  be  placed  after  such  a  manner, 
as  to  receive  bodies  betwixt  them,  without  impulsion  or  penetration.  The 
real  nature  of  this  position  of  bodies  is  unknown.  We  are  only  acquainted 
with  its  effects  on  the  senses,  and  its  power  of  receiving  body.  Nothing  is 
more  suitable  to  that  philosophy,  than  a  modest  scepticism  to  a  certain  degree, 
and  a  fair  confession  of  ignorance  in  subjects  that  exceed  all  human  capacity. 
VOL.  I.  8 


90  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

you  will  not  give  it  that  name,  motion  is  possible  in  a 
plenum,  without  any  impulse  in  infinitum,  without  return- 
ing in  a  circle,  and  without  penetration.  But  however 
we  may  express  ourselves,  we  must  always  confess,  that 
we  have  no  idea  of  any  real  extension  without  filling  it 
with  sensible  objects,  and  conceiving  its  parts  as  visible 
or  tangible. 

As  to  the  doctrine,  that  time  is  nothing  but  the 
manner  in  which  some  real  objects  exist,  we  may 
observe,  that  it  is  liable  to  the  same  objections  as  the 
similar  doctrine  with  regard  to  extension.  If  it  be  a 
sufficient  proof,  that  we  have  the  idea  of  a  vacuum, 
because  we  dispute  and  reason  concerning  it ;  we  must 
for  the  same  reason  have  the  idea  of  time  without  any 
changeable  existence ;  since  there  is  no  subject  of  dis- 
pute more  frequent  and  common.  But  that  we  really 
have  no  such  idea,  is  certain.  For  whence  should  it  be 
derived  ?  Does  it  arise  from  an  impression  of  sensation 
or  of  reflection  ?  Point  it  out  distinctly  to  us,  that  we 
may  know  its  nature  and  qualities.  But  if  you  cannot 
point  out  any  such  impression,  you  may  be  certain  you 
are  mistaken,  when  you  imagine  you  have  any  such 
idea. 

But  though  it  be  impossible  to  show  the  impression, 
from  which  the  idea  of  time  without  a  changeable  exist- 
ence is  derived,  yet  we  can  easily  point  out  those  appear- 
ances, which  make  us  fancy  we  have  that  idea.  For  we 
may  observe,  that  there  is  a  continual  succession  of  per- 
ceptions in  our  mind ;  so  that  the  idea  of  time  being  for 
ever  present  with  us,  when  we  consider  a  steadfast  object 
at  five  o'clock,  and  regard  the  same  at  six,  we  are  apt  to 
apply  to  it  that  idea  in  the  same  manner  as  if  every 
moment  were  distinguished  by  a  different  position,  or  an 
alteration  of  the  object.    The  first  and  second  appearances 


OP   THE  UNDERSTANDING.  91 

of  the  object,  being  compared  with  the  succession  of  our 
perceptions,  seem  equally  removed  as  if  the  object  had 
really  changed.  To  which  we  may  add,  what  experi- 
ence shows  us,  that  the  object  was  susceptible  of  such  a 
number  of  changes  betwixt  these  appearances ;  as  also 
that  the  unchangeable  or  rather  fictitious  duration  has 
the  same  effect  upon  every  quality,  by  increasing  or 
diminishing  it,  as  that  succession  which  is  obvious  to  the 
senses.  From  these  three  relations  we  are  apt  to 
confound  our  ideas,  and  imagine  we  can  form  the  idea 
of  a  time  and  duration,  without  any  change  or  succes- 
sion. 


SECTION  VL 

OP   THE   IDEAS    OF   EXISTENCE,  AND    OP   EXTERNAL   EXISTENCE. 

It  may  not  be  amiss,  before  we  leave  this  subject,  to 
explain  the  ideas  of  existence  and  of  external  existence  ; 
which  have  their  difficulties,  as  well  as  the  ideas  of  space 
and  time.  By  this  means  we  shall  be  the  better  pre- 
pared for  the  examination  of  knowledge  and  probability, 
when  we  understand  perfectly  all  those  particular  ideas, 
which  may  enter  into  our  reasoning. 

There  is  no  impression  nor  idea  of  any  kind,  of  which 
we  have  any  consciousness  or  memory,  that  is  not  con- 
ceived as  existent ;  and  it  is  evident  that,  from  this  con- 
sciousness, the  most  perfect  idea  and  assurance  of  being 
is  derived.  From  hence  we  may  form  a  dilemma,  the 
most  clear  and  conclusive  that  can  be  imagined,  viz.  that 
since  we  never  remember  any  idea  or  impression  with- 
out attributing  existence  to  it,  the  idea  of  existence 
must  either  be  derived  from  a  distinct  impression,  con- 


92  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

joined  with  every  perception  or  object  of  our  thought, 
or  must  be  the  very  same  with  the  idea  of  the  percep- 
tion or  object. 

As  this  dilemma  is  an  evident  consequence  of  the 
principle,  that  every  idea  arises  from  a  similar  impres- 
sion, so  our  decision  betwixt  the  propositions  of  the 
dilemma  is  no  more  doubtful.  So  far  from  there  Jpeing 
any  distinct  impression  attending  every  impression  and 
every  idea,  that  I  do  not  think  there  are  any  two  dis- 
tinct impressions  which  are  inseparably  conjoined. 
Though  certain  sensations  may  at  one  time  be  united, 
we  quickly  find  they  admit  of  a  separation,  and  may  be 
presented  apart.  And  thus,  though  every  impression 
and  idea  we  remember  be  considered  as  existent,  the 
idea  of  existence  is  not  derived  from  any  particular  im- 
pression. 

The  idea  of  existence,  then,  is  the  very  same  with  the 
idea  of  what  we  conceive  to  be  existent.  To  reflect  on 
any  thing  simply,  and  to  reflect  on  it  as  existent,  are 
nothing  different  from  each  other.  That  idea,  when 
conjoined  with  the  idea  of  any  object,  makes  no  addition 
to  it.  Whatever  we  conceive,  we  conceive  to  be  exist- 
ent. Any  idea  wTe  please  to  form  is  the  idea  of  a 
being ;  and  the  idea  of  a  being  is  any  idea  we  please  to 
form. 

Whoever  opposes  this,  must  necessarily  point  out  that 
distinct  impression,  from  which  the  idea  of  entity  is 
derived,  and  must  prove,  that  this  impression  is  insepa- 
rable from  every  perception  we  believe  to  be  existent. 
This  we  may  without  hesitation  conclude  to  be  impossi- 
ble. 

Our  foregoing  reasoning  *  concerning  the  distinction  of 

*  Part  I.  Sect,  7. 


OP    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  93 

ideas,  without  any  real  difference,  will  not  here  serve  us 
in  any  stead.  That  kind  of  distinction  is  founded  on  the 
different  resemblances,  which  the  same  simple  idea  may 
have  to  several  different  ideas.  But  no  object  can  be 
presented  resembling  some  object  with  respect  to  its 
existence,  and  different  from  others  in  the  same  particu- 
lar ;  since  every  object  that  is  presented,  must  necessa- 
rily be  existent. 

A  like  reasoning  will  account  for  the  idea  of  external 
existence.  We  may  observe,  that  it  is  universally  allowed 
by  philosophers,  and  is  besides  pretty  obvious  of  itself, 
that  nothing  is  ever  really  present  with  the  mind  but 
its  perceptions  or  impressions  and  ideas,  and  that  exter- 
nal objects  become  known  to  us  only  by  those  percep- 
tions they  occasion.  To  hate,  to  love,  to  think,  to  feel, 
to  see ;  all  this  is  nothing  but  to  perceive. 

Now  since  nothing  is  ever  present  to  the  mind  but 
perceptions,  and  since  all  ideas  are  derived  from  some- 
thing antecedently  present  to  the  mind ;  it  follows,  that 
it  is  impossible  for  us  so  much  as  to  conceive  or  form  an 
idea  of  any  thing  specifically  different  from  ideas  and 
impressions.  Let  us  fix  our  attention  out  of  ourselves  as 
much  as  possible ;  let  us  chase  our  imagination  to  the 
heavens,  or  to  the  utmost  limits  of  the  universe ;  we 
never  really  advance  a  step  beyond  ourselves,  nor  can 
conceive  any  kind  of  existence,  but  those  perceptions, 
which  have  appeared  in  that  narrow  compass.  This  is 
the  universe  of  the  imagination,  nor  have  we  any  idea 
but  what  is  there  produced. 

The  furthest  we  can  go  towards  a  conception  of  ex- 
ternal objects,  when  supposed  specifically  different  from 
our  perceptions,  is  to  form  a  relative  idea  of  them,  with- 
out  pretending    to    comprehend    the    related   objects. 

8* 


94  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING, 

Generally  speaking,  we  do  not  suppose  them  specifically 
different ;  but  only  attribute  to  them  different  relations, 
connections,  and  durations.  But  of  this  more  fully  here- 
after.* 

*  Part  IV.  Section  2. 


PART  III. 

OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  PROBABILITY. 


SECTION   I. 
OF    KNOWLEDGE. 

There  are  seven  different  kinds  of  philosophical  rela- 
tion, *  viz.  resemblance,  identity,  relations  of  time  and  place, 
proportion  in  quantity  or  number,  degrees  in  any  quality,  con- 
trariety, and  causation.  These  relations  may  be  divided 
into  two  classes ;  into  such  as  depend  entirely  on  the 
ideas,  which  we  compare  together,  and  such  as  may  be 
changed  without  any  change  in  the  ideas.  It  is  from  the 
idea  of  a  triangle,  that  we  discover  the  relation  of  equal- 
ity, which  its  three  angles  bear  to  two  right  ones ;  and 
this  relation  is  invariable,  as  long  as  our  idea  remains  the 
same.  On  the  contrary,  the  relations  of  contiguity  and 
distance  betwixt  two  objects  may  be  changed  merely  by 
an  alteration  of  their  place,  without  any  change  on  the 
objects  themselves  or  on  their  ideas ;  and  the  place 
depends  on  a  hundred  different  accidents,  which  cannot 
be  foreseen  by  the  mind.  It  is  the  same  case  with 
identity  and  causation.  Two  objects,  though  perfectly 
resembling  each  other,  and  even  appearing  in  the  same 

*  Part  I.  Sect,  5. 


96  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

place  at  different  times,  may  be  numerically  different : 
and  as  the  power,  by  which  one  object  produces  another, 
is  never  discoverable  merely  from  their  idea,  it  is  evi- 
dent cause  and  effect  are  relations,  of  which  we  receive 
information  from  experience,  and  not  from  any  abstract 
reasoning  or  reflection.  There  is  no  single  phenomenon, 
even  the  most  simple,  which  can  be  accounted  for  from 
the  qualities  of  the  objects,  as  they  appear  to  us;  or 
which  we  could  foresee  without  the  help  of  our  memory 
and  experience. 

It  appears  therefore  that  of  these  seven  philosophical 
relations,  there  remain  only  four,  which  depending  solely 
upon  ideas,  can  be  the  objects  of  knowledge  and  cer- 
tainty. These  four  are  resemblance,  contrariety,  degrees 
in  quality,  and  proportions  in  quantity  or  number.  Three  of 
these  relations  are  discoverable  at  first  sight,  and  fall 
more  properly  under  the  province  of  intuition  than 
demonstration.  When  any  objects  resemble  each  other, 
the  resemblance  will  at  first  strike  the  eye,  or  rather  the 
mind  ;  and  seldom  requires  a  second  examination.  The 
case  is  the  same  with  contrariety,  and  with  the  degrees  of 
any  quality.  No  one  can  once  doubt  but  existence  and 
non-existence  destroy  each  other,  and  are  perfectly  in- 
compatible and  contrary.  And  though  it  be  impossible 
to  judge  exactly  of  the  degrees  of  any  quality,  such  as 
color,  taste,  heat,  cold,  when  the  difference  betwixt  them 
is  very  small ;  yet  it  is  easy  to  decide,  that  any  of  them 
is  superior  or  inferior  to  another,  when  their  difference 
is  considerable.  And  this  decision  we  always  pronounce 
at  first  sight,  without  any  inquiry  or  reasoning. 

We  might  proceed,  after  the  same  manner,  in  fixing 
the  proportions  of  quantity  or  number,  and  might  at  one 
view  observe  a  superiority,  or  inferiority  betwixt  any 
numbers,  or  figures ;  especially  where  the  difference  is 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  97 

very  great  and  remarkable.  As  to  equality  or  any 
exact  proportion,  we  can  only  guess  at  it  from  a  single 
consideration ;  except  in  very  short  numbers,  or  very 
limited  portions  of  extension ;  which  are  comprehended 
in  an  instant,  and  where  we  perceive  an  impossibility  of 
falling  into  any  considerable  error.  In  all  other  cases 
we  must  settle  the  proportions  with  some  liberty,  or 
proceed  in  a  more   artificial  manner. 

I  have  already  observed,  that  geometry,  or  the  art 
by  which  we  fix  the  proportions  of  figures ;  though  it 
much  excels  both  in  universality  and  exactness,  the 
loose  judgments  of  the  senses  and  imagination;  yet 
never  attains  a  perfect  precision  and  exactness.  Its 
first  principles  are  still  drawn  from  the  general  ap- 
pearance of  the  objects;  and  that  appearance  can 
never  afford  us  any  security,  when  we  examine  the 
prodigious  minuteness  of  which  nature  is  suscepti- 
ble. Our  ideas  seem  to  give  a  perfect  assurance,  that 
no  two  right  lines  can  have  a  common  segment ;  but 
if  we  consider  these  ideas,  we  shall  find,  that  they 
always  suppose  a  sensible  inclination  of  the  two  lines, 
and  that  where  the  angle  they  form  is  extremely  small, 
we  have  no  standard  of  a  right  line  so  precise  as  to 
assure  us  of  the  truth  of  this  proposition.  It  is  the 
same  case  with  most  of  the  primary  decisions  of  the 
mathematics. 

There  remain  therefore  algebra  and  arithmetic  as 
the  only  sciences,  in  which  we  can  carry  on  a  chain  of 
reasoning  to  any  degree  of  intricacy,  and  yet  preserve 
a  perfect  exactness  and  certainty.  We  are  possessed 
of  a  precise  standard,  by  which  we  can  judge  of  the 
equality  and  proportion  of  numbers ;  and  according  as 
they  correspond  or  not  to  that  standard,  we  determine 
their  relations,  without  any  possibility  of  error.     When 


98  OF   THE  UNDERSTANDING. 

two  numbers  are  so  combined,  as  that  the  one  has 
always  an  unit  answering  to  every  unit  of  the  other, 
we  pronounce  them  equal ;  and  it  is  for  want  of  such  a 
standard  of  equality  in  extension,  that  geometry  can 
scarce  be  esteemed  a  perfect  and  infallible  science. 

But  here  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  obviate  a  difficulty, 
which  may  arise  from  my  asserting,  that  though  geo- 
metry falls  short  of  that  perfect  precision  and  certainty, 
which  are  peculiar  to  arithmetic  and  algebra,  yet  it 
excels  the  imperfect  judgments  of  our  senses  and  imag- 
ination. The  reason  why  I  impute  any  defect  to  geo- 
metry, is,  because  its  original  and  fundamental  principles 
are  derived  merely  from  appearances;  and  it  may 
perhaps  be  imagined,  that  this  defect  must  always  attend 
it,  and  keep  it  from  ever  reaching  a  greater  exactness  in 
the  comparison  of  objects  or  ideas,  than  what  our  eye 
or  imagination  alone  is  able  to  attain.  I  own  that  this 
defect  so  far  attends  it,  as  to  keep  it  from  ever  aspiring 
to  a  full  certainty :  but  since  these  fundamental  princi- 
ples depend  on  the  easiest  and  least  deceitful  appear- 
ances, they  bestow  on  their  consequences  a  degree  of 
exactness,  of  which  these  consequences  are  singly  inca- 
pable. It  is  impossible  for  the  eye  to  determine  the 
angles  of  a  chiliagon  to  be  equal  to  1996  right  angles, 
or  make  any  conjecture,  that  approaches  this  propor- 
tion ;  but  when  it  determines,  that  right  lines  cannot 
concur ;  that  we  cannot  draw  more  than  one  right  line 
between  two  given  points ;  its  mistakes  can  never  be  of 
any  consequence.  And  this  is  the  nature  and  use  of  geo- 
metry, to  run  us  up  to  such  appearances,  as,  by  reason  of 
their  simplicity,  cannot  lead  us  into  any  considerable 
error. 

I  shall  here  take  occasion  to  propose  a  second  ob- 
servation   concerning    our    demonstrative    reasonings, 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  99 

which  is  suggested  by  the  same  subject  of  the  mathe- 
matics.    It  is  usual  with   mathematicians   to   pretend, 
that  those  ideas,  which  are  their  objects,  are  of  so  re- 
fined and  spiritual  a  nature,  that  they  fall  not  under 
the  conception  of  the  fancy,  but  must  be  comprehended 
by  a  pure  and   intellectual  view,  of  which   the   supe- 
rior faculties  of  the  soul  are  alone  capable.     The  same 
notion  runs   through  most  parts  of  philosophy,  and  is 
principally  made  use  of  to  explain  our  abstract  ideas, 
and  to  show  how  we  can  form  an  idea  of  a  triangle, 
for  instance,  which  shall  neither   be  an  isosceles  nor 
scalenum,  nor  be  confined  to  any  particular  length  and 
proportion  of  sides.     It  is  easy  to  see  why  philosophers 
are  so  fond  of  this  notion  of  some  spiritual  and  refined 
perceptions ;   since  by  that  means  they  cover  many  of 
their   absurdities,   and   may   refuse   to   submit   to   the 
decisions   of  clear  ideas,  by  appealing  to  such  as  are 
obscure  and  uncertain.     But  to  destroy  this  artifice,  we 
need  but  reflect  on  that  principle  so  oft  insisted  on,  that 
all  our  ideas  are  copied  from  our  impressions.     For  from 
thence  we  may  immediately  conclude,  that  since  all  im- 
pressions  are   clear   and   precise,  the  ideas,  which  are 
copied  from  them,  must  be  of  the  same  nature,  and  can 
never,  but  from  our  fault,  contain  any  thing  so  dark  and 
intricate.     An  idea  is  by  its  very  nature  weaker  and 
fainter  than  an  impression;   but  being  in  every  other 
respect  the  same,  cannot  imply  any  very  great  mystery. 
If  its  weakness  render  it  obscure,  it  is  our  business  to 
remedy  that  defect,  as  much  as  possible,  by  keeping  the 
idea  steady  and  precise ;  and  till  we  have  done  so,  it  is 
in  vain  to  pretend  to  reasoning  and  philosophy. 


100  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

SECTION  II. 

OF   PROBABILITY,   AND    OF   THE   IDEA    OF   CAUSE   AND   EFFECT. 

This  is  all  I  think  necessary  to  observe  concerning 
those  four  relations,  which  are  the  foundation  of  science ; 
but  as  to  the  other  three,  which  depend  not  upon  the 
idea,  and  may  be  absent  or  present  even  while  that  re- 
mains the  same,  it  will  be  proper  to  explain  them  more 
particularly.  These  three  relations  are  identity,  the  situa- 
tions in  time  and  place,  and  causation. 

All  kinds  of  reasoning  consist  in  nothing  but  a  com- 
parison, and  a  discovery  of  those  relations,  either  con- 
stant or  inconstant,  which  two  or  more  objects  bear  to 
each  other.  This  comparison  we  may  make,  either 
when  both  the  objects  are  present  to  the  senses,  or  when 
neither  of  them  is  present,  or  when  only  one.  When 
both  the  objects  are  present  to  the  senses  along  with  the 
relation,  we  call  this  perception  rather  than  reasoning ; 
nor  is  there  in  this  case  any  exercise  of  the  thought,  or 
any  action,  properly  speaking,  but  a  mere  passive  admis- 
sion of  the  impressions  through  the  organs  of  sensation. 
According  to  this  way  of  thinking,  we  ought  not  to 
receive  as  reasoning  any  of  the  observations  we  may 
make  concerning  identity  and  the  relations  of  time  and 
place ;  since  in  none  of  them  the  mind  can  go  beyond 
what  is  immediately  present  to  the  senses,  either  to  dis- 
cover the  real  existence  or  the  relations  of  objects.  It 
is  only  causation,  which  produces  such  a  connection,  as  to 
give  us  assurance  from  the  existence  or  action  of  one 
object,  that  it  was  followed  or  preceded  by  any  other 
existence  or  action;  nor  can  the  other  two  relations 
ever  be  made  use  of  in  reasoning,  except  so  far  as  they 


OF   THE    UNDERSTANDING.  101 

either  affect  or  are  affected  by  it.  There  is  nothing  in 
any  objects  to  persuade  us,  that  they  are  either  always 
remote  or  always  contiguous ;  and  when  from  experience 
and  observation  we  discover,  that  their  relation  in  this 
particular  is  invariable,  we  always  conclude  there  is 
some  secret  cause  which  separates  or  unites  them.  The 
same  reasoning  extends  to  identity.  We  readily  suppose 
an  object  may  continue  individually  the  same,  though  sev- 
eral times  absent  from  and  present  to  the  senses;  and 
ascribe  to  it  an  identity,  notwithstanding  the  interrup- 
tion of  the  perception,  whenever  we  conclude,  that  if  we 
had  kept  our  eye  or  hand  constantly  upon  it,  it  would 
have  conveyed  an  invariable  and  uninterrupted  percep- 
tion. But  this  conclusion  beyond  the  impressions  of  our 
senses  can  be  founded  only  on  the  connection  of  cause 
and  effect;  nor  can  we  otherwise  have  any  security  that 
the  object  is  not'  changed  upon  us,  however  much  the 
new  object  may  resemble  that  which  was  formerly 
present  to  the  senses.  Whenever  we  discover  such  a 
perfect  resemblance,  we  consider  whether  it  be  common 
in  that  species  of  objects ;  whether  possibly  or  probably 
any  cause  could  operate  in  producing  the  change  and 
resemblance;  and  according  as  we  determine  concern- 
ing these  causes  and  effects,  we  form  our  judgment  con- 
cerning the  identity  of  the  object. 

Here  then  it  appears,  that  of  those  three  relations, 
which  depend  not  upon  the  mere  ideas,  the  only  one 
that  can  be  traced  beyond  our  senses,  and  informs  us 
of  existences  and  objects,  which  we  do  not  see  or  feel,  is 
causation.  This  relation  therefore  we  shall  endeavor  to 
explain  fully  before  we  leave  the  subject  of  the  under- 
standing. 

To  begin  regularly,  we  must  consider  the  idea  of 
causation,  and  see  from  what  origin  it  is  derived.     It  is 

vol.  i.  9 


102  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

impossible  to  reason  justly,  without  understanding  per- 
fectly the  idea  concerning  which  we  reason  ;  and  it  is 
impossible  perfectly  to  understand  any  idea,  without 
tracing  it  up  to  its  origin,  and  examining  that  primary 
impression,  from  which  it  arises.  The  examination  of 
the  impression  bestows  a  clearness  on  the  idea ;  and  the 
examination  of  the  idea  bestows  a  like  clearness  on  all 
our  reasoning. 

Let  us  therefore  cast  our  eye  on  any  two  objects, 
which  we  call  cause  and  effect,  and  turn  them  on  all 
sides,  in  order  to  find  that  impression,  which  produces 
an  idea  of  such  prodigious  consequence.  At  first  sight  I 
perceive,  that  I  must  not  search  far  it  in  any  of  the  par- 
ticular qualities  of  the  objects ;  since,  whichever  of  these 
qualities  I  pitch  on,  I  find  some  object  that  is  not  pos- 
sessed of  it,  and  yet  falls  under  the  denomination  of 
cause  or  effect.  And  indeed  there  is  nothing  existent, 
either  externally  or  internally,  which  is  not  to  be  con- 
sidered either  as  a  cause  or  an  effect ;  though  it  is  plain 
there  is  no  one  quality  which  universally  belongs  to  all 
beings,  and  gives  them  a  title  to  that  denomination. 

The  idea  then  of  causation  must  be  derived  from  some 
relation  among  objects ;  and  that  relation  we  must  now 
endeavor  to  discover.  I  find  in  the  first  place,  that 
whatever  objects  are  considered  as  causes  or  effects,  are 
contiguous ;  and  that  nothing  can  operate  in  a  time  or 
place,  which  is  ever  so  little  removed  from  those  of  its 
existence.  Though  distant  objects  may  sometimes  seem 
productive  of  each  other,  they  are  commonly  found 
upon  examination  to  be  linked  by  a  chain  of  causes, 
which  are  contiguous  among  themselves,  and  to  the  dis- 
tant objects;  and  when  in  any  particular  instance  we 
cannot  discover  this  connection,  we  still  presume  it  to 
exist.     We  may  therefore  consider  the  relation  of  conti- 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  103 

guity  as  essential  to  that  of  causation ;  at  least  may  sup- 
pose it  such,  according  to  the  general  opinion,  till  we 
can  find  a  more  proper  occasion  *  to  clear  up  this  mat- 
ter, by  examining  what  objects  are  or  are  not  suscepti- 
ble of  juxtaposition  and  conjunction. 

The  second  relation  I  shall  observe  as  essential  to 
causes  and  effects,  is  not  so  universally  acknowledged, 
but  is  liable  to  some  controversy.  It  is  that  of  priority 
of  time  in  the  cause  before  the  effect.  Some  pretend 
that  it  is  not  absolutely  necessary  a  cause  should  pre- 
cede its  effect;  but  that  any  object  or  action,  in  the 
very  first  moment  of  its  existence,  may  exert  its  pro- 
ductive quality,  and  give  rise  to  another  object  or 
action,  perfectly  contemporary  with  itself.  But  beside 
that  experience  in  most  instances  seems  to  contradict 
this  opinion,  we  may  establish  the  relation  of  priority 
by  a  kind  of  inference  or  reasoning.  It  is  an  established 
maxim,  both  in  natural  and  moral  philosophy,  that  an 
object,  which  exists  for  any  time  in  its  full  perfection 
without  producing  another,  is  not  its  sole  cause  ;  but  is 
assisted  by  some  other  principle  which  pushes  it  from  its 
state  of  inactivity,  and  makes  it  exert  that  energy,  of 
which  it  was  secretly  possessed.  Now  if  any  cause  may 
be  perfectly  contemporary  with  its  effect,  it  is  certain, 
according  to  this  maxim,  that  they  must  all  of  them  be 
so  ;  since  any  one  of  them,  which  retards  its  operation 
for  a  single  moment,  exerts  not  itself  at  that  very  indi- 
vidual time,  in  which  it  might  have  operated ;  and 
therefore  is  no  proper  cause.  The  consequence  of  this 
would  be  no  less  than  the  destruction  of  that  succession 
of  causes,  which  we  observe  in  the  world ;  and  indeed 
the  utter  annihilation  of  time.     For  if  one  cause  were 

*  Part  IV.  Sect.  5. 


104  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

contemporary  with  its  effect,  and  this  effect  with  its  effect, 
and  so  on,  it  is  plain  there  would  be  no  such  thing  as 
succession,  and  all  objects  must  be  coexistent. 

If  this  argument  appear  satisfactory,  it  is  well.  If 
not,  I  beg  the  reader  to  allow  me  the  same  liberty, 
which  I  have  used  in  the  preceding  case,  of  supposing 
it  such.  For  he  shall  find,  that  the  affair  is  of  no  great 
importance. 

Having  thus  discovered  or  supposed  the  two  relations 
of  contiguity  and  succession  to  be  essential  to  causes  and 
effects,  I  find  I  am  stopped  short,  and  can  proceed  no 
further  in  considering  any  single  instance  of  cause  and 
effect.  Motion  in  one  body  is  regarded  upon  impulse  as 
the  cause  of  motion  in  another.  When  we  consider 
these  objects  with  the  utmost  attention,  we  find  only 
that  the  one  body  approaches  the  other ;  and  that  the 
motion  of  it  precedes  that  of  the  other,  but  without 
any  sensible  interval.  It  is  in  vain  to  rack  ourselves 
with  further  thought  and  reflection  upon  this  subject. 
We  can  go  no  further  in  considering  this  particular 
instance. 

Should  any  one  leave  this  instance,  and  pretend  to 
define  a  cause,  by  saying  it  is  something  productive  of 
another,  it  is  evident  he  would  say  nothing.  For  what 
does  he  mean  by  production?  Can  he  give  any  defini- 
tion of  it,  that  will  not  be  the  same  with  that  of  causa- 
tion ?  If  he  can,  I  desire  it  may  be  produced.  If  he 
cannot,  he  here  runs  in  a  circle,  and  gives  a  synonymous 
term  instead  of  a  definition. 

Shall  we  then  rest  contented  with  these  two  relations 
of  contiguity  and  succession,  as  affording  a  complete 
idea  of  causation  ?  By  no  means.  An  object  may  be 
contiguous  and  prior  to  another,  without  being  consid- 
ered as  its  cause.     There  is  a  necessary  connection  to  be 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  105 

taken  into  consideration ;  and  that  relation  is  of  much 
greater  importance,  than  any  of  the  other  two  above 
mentioned. 

Here  again  I  turn  the  object  on  all  sides,  in  order  to 
discover  the  nature  of  this  necessary  connection,  and 
find  the  impression,  or  impressions,  from  which  its  idea 
may  be  derived.  When  I  cast  my  eye  on  the  hioivn 
qualities  of  objects,  I  immediately  discover  that  the  rela- 
tion of  cause  and  effect  depends  not  in  the  least  on  them. 
When  I  consider  their  relations,  I  can  find  none  but  those 
of  contiguity  and  succession ;  which  I  have  already 
regarded  as  imperfect  and  unsatisfactory.  Shall  the 
despair  of  success  make  me  assert,  that  I  am  here  pos- 
sessed of  an  idea,  which  is  not  preceded  by  any  similar 
impression  ?  This  would  be  too  strong  a  proof  of  levity 
and  inconstancy;  since  the  contrary  principle  has  been 
already  so  firmly  established,  as  to  admit  of  no  further 
doubt ;  at  least,  till  we  have  more  fully  examined  the 
present  difficulty. 

We  must  therefore  proceed  like  those  who,  being  in 
search  of  any  thing  that  lies  concealed  from  them,  and 
not  finding  it  in  the  place  they  expected,  beat  about 
all  the  neighboring  fields,  without  any  certain  view  or 
design,  in  hopes  their  good  fortune  will  at  last  guide 
them  to  what  they  search  for.  It  is  necessary  for  us  to 
leave  the  direct  survey  of  this  question  concerning  the 
nature  of  that  necessary  connection,  which  enters  into  our 
idea  of  cause  and  effect;  and  endeavor  to  find  some 
other  questions,  the  examination  of  which  will  perhaps 
afford  a  hint,  that  may  serve  to  clear  up  the  present 
difficulty.  Of  these  questions  there  occur  two,  which  I 
shall  proceed  to  examine,  viz. 

First,  for  what  reason  we  pronounce  it  necessary,  that 

9* 


106  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

every  thing  whose  existence  has  a  beginning,  should 
also  have  a  cause  ? 

Secondly,  why  we  conclude,  that  such  particular  causes 
1*  must  necessarily  have  such  particular  effects;  and  what  is 
the  nature  of  that  inference  we  draw  from  the  one  to 
the  other,  and  of  the  belief  we  repose  in  it  ? 

I  shall  only  observe  before  I  proceed  any  further,  that 
though  the  ideas  of  cause  and  effect  be  derived  from  the 
impressions  of  reflection  as  well  as  from  those  of  sensa- 
tion, yet  for  brevity's  sake,  I  commonly  mention  only 
the  latter  as  the  origin  of  these  ideas ;  though  I  desire 
that,  whatever  I  say  of  thern,  may  also  extend  to  the 
former.  Passions  are  connected  with  their  objects  and 
with  one  another;  no  less  than  external  bodies  are  con- 
nected together.  The  same  relation  then  of  cause  and 
effect,  which  belongs  to  one,  must  be  common  to  all  of 
them. 


SECTION  III. 

WHY   A    CAUSE   IS    ALWAYS    NECESSARY. 

To  begin  with  the  first  question  concerning  the  neces- 
sity of  a  cause :  It  is  a  general  maxim  in  philosophy, 
that  whatever  begins  to  exist,  must  have  a  cause  of  existence. 
This  is  commonly  taken  for  granted  in  all  reasonings, 
without  any  proof  given  or  demanded.  It  is  supposed 
to  be  founded  on  intuition,  and  to  be  one  of  those 
maxims  which,  though  they  may  be  denied  with  the 
lips,  it  is  impossible  for  men  in  their  hearts  really  to 
doubt  of.  But  if  we  examine  this  maxim  by  the  idea 
or  knowledge  above  explained,  we  shall  discover  in  it 
no  mark  of  any  such  intuitive  certainty ;   but  on  the 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  107 

contrary  shall  find,  that  it  is  of  a  nature  quite  foreign 
to  that  species  of  conviction. 

All  certainty  arises  from  the  comparison  of  ideas,  and 
from  the  discovery  of  such  relations  as  are  unalterable, 
so  long  as  the  ideas  continue  the  same.  These  relations 
are  resemblance,  proportions  in  quantity  and  number,  degrees 
of  any  quality,  and  contrariety  ;  none  of  which  are  implied 
in  this  proposition,  Whatever  has  a  beginning  has  also  a 
cause  of  existence.  That  proposition  therefore  is  not 
intuitively  certain.  At  least  any  one,  who  would  assert 
it  to  be  intuitively  certain,  must  deny  these  to  be  the 
only  infallible  relations,  and  must  find  some  other  rela- 
tion of  that  kind  to  be  implied  in  it ;  which  it  will  then 
be  time  enough  to  examine. 

But  here  is  an  argument,  which  proves  at  once,  that 
the  foregoing  proposition  is  neither  intuitively  nor 
demonstrably  certain.  We  can  never  demonstrate  the 
necessity  of  a  cause  to  every  new  existence,  or  new 
modification  of  existence,  without  showing  at  the  same 
time  the  impossibility  there  is,  that  any  thing  can  ever 
begin  to  exist  without  some  productive  principle ;  and 
where  the  latter  proposition  cannot  be  proved,  we  must 
despair  of  ever  being  able  to  prove  the  former.  Now 
that  the  latter  proposition  is  utterly  incapable  of  a 
demonstrative  proof,  we  may  satisfy  ourselves  by  con- 
sidering, ithat  as  all  distinct  ideas  are  separable  from 
each  other,  and  as  the  ideas  of  cause  and  effect  are 
evidently  distinct,  it  will  be  easy  for  us  to  conceive  any 
object  to  be  non-existent  this  moment,  and  existent  the 
next,  without  conjoining  to  it  the  distinct  idea  of  a 
cause  or  productive  principle.)  The  separation  therefore 
of  the  idea  of  a  cause  from  that  of  a  beginning  of  exist- 
ence, is  plainly  possible  for  the  imagination ;  and  con- 
sequently the  actual  separation  of  these  objects  is  so  far 


108  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

possible,  that  it  implies  no  contradiction  nor  absurdity; 
and  is  therefore  incapable  of  being  refuted  by  any  rea- 
soning from  mere  ideas,  without  which  it  is  impossible 
to  demonstrate  the  necessity  of  a  cause. 

Accordingly,  we  shall  find  upon  examination,  that 
every  demonstration,  which  has  been  produced  for  the 
necessity  of  a  cause,  is  fallacious  and  sophistical.  All 
the  points  of  time  and  place,  say  some  philosophers,*  in 
which  we  can  suppose  any  object  to  begin  to  exist,  are 
in  themselves  equal ;  and  unless  there  be  some  cause, 
which  is  peculiar  to  one  time  and  to  one  place,  and 
which  by  that  means  determines  and  fixes  the  existence, 
it  must  remain  in  eternal  suspense •  and  the  object  can 
never  begin  to  be,  for  want  of  something  to  fix  its  be- 
ginning. But  I  ask,  is  there  any  more  difficulty  in  sup- 
posing the  time  and  place  to  be  fixed  without  a  cause, 
than  to  suppose  the  existence  to  be  determined  in  that 
manner !  The  first  question  that  occurs  on  this  subject 
is  always,  whether  the  object  shall  exist  or  not:  the  next, 
when  and  where  it  shall  begin  to  exist.  If  the  removal 
of  a  cause  be  intuitively  absurd  in  the  one  case,  it  must 
be  so  in  the  other :  and  if  that  absurdity  be  not  clear 
without  a  proof  in  the  one  case,  it  wTill  equally  require 
one  in  the  other.  The  absurdity  then  of  the  one  sup- 
position can  never  be  a  proof  of  that  of  the  other ;  since 
they  are  both  upon  the  same  footing,  and  must  stand  or 
fall  by  the  same  reasoning. 

The  second  argument,-}*  which  I  find  used  on  this  head, 
labors  under  an  equal  difficulty.  Every  thing,  it  is  said, 
must  have  a  cause ;  for  if  any  thing  wanted  a  cause,  it 
would  produce  itself,  that  is,  exist  before  it  existed,  which 
is  impossible.     But  this  reasoning  is  plainly  unconclu- 

*  Mr.  Hobbes.  t  Dr.  Clarke  and  others. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  109 

sive ;  because  it  supposes  that,  in  our  denial  of  a  cause, 
we  still  grant  what  we  expressly  deny,  viz.  that  there 
must  be  a  cause ;  which  therefore  is  taken  to  be  the 
object  itself;  and  that,  no  doubt,  is  an  evident  contradic- 
tion. But  to  say  that  any  thing  is  produced,  or,  to 
express  myself  more  properly,  comes  into  existence, 
without  a  cause,  is  not  to  affirm  that  it  is  itself  its  own 
cause  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  in  excluding  all  external 
causes,  excludes  a  fortiori  the  thing  itself  which  is 
created.  An  object  that  exists  absolutely  without  any 
cause,  certainly  is  not  its  own  cause ;  and  when  you 
assert,  that  the  one  follows  from  the  other,  you  suppose 
the  very  point  in  question,  and  take  it  for  granted,  that 
it  is  utterly  impossible  any  thing  can  ever  begin  to  exist 
without  a  cause,  but  that,  upon  the  exclusion  of  one 
productive  principle,  we  must  still  have  recourse  to 
another. 

It  is  exactly  the  same  case  with  the  third  argument,* 
which  has  been  employed  to  demonstrate  the  necessity 
of  a  cause.  Whatever  is  produced  without  any  cause, 
is  produced  by  nothing  ;  or,  in  other  words,  has  nothing 
for  its  cause.  But  nothing  can  never  be  a  cause,  no 
more  than  it  can  be  something,  or  equal  to  two  right 
angles.  By  the  same  intuition,  that  we  perceive  nothing 
not  to  be  equal  to  two  right  angles,  or  not  to  be  some- 
thing, we  perceive,  that  it  can  never  be  a  cause ;  and 
consequently  must  perceive,  that  every  object  has  a 
real  cause  of  its  existence. 

I  believe  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  employ  many 
words  in  showing  the  weakness  of  this  argument,  after 
what  I  have  said  of  the  foregoing.  They  are  all  of 
them  founded  on  the  same  fallacy,  and  are  derived  from 

*  Mr.  Locke. 


110  OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

the  same  turn  of  thought.  It  is  sufficient  only  to  ob- 
serve, that  when  we  exclude  all  causes  we  really  do 
exclude  them,  and  neither  suppose  nothing  nor  the 
object  itself  to  be  the  cause  of  the  existence ;  and  conse- 
quently can  draw  no  argument  from  the  absurdity  of 
these  suppositions  to  prove  the  absurdity  of  that  exclu- 
sion. If  every  thing  must  have  a  cause,  it  follows,  that, 
upon  the  exclusion  of  other  causes,  we  must  accept  of 
the  object  itself  or  of  nothing  as  causes.  But  it  is  the 
very  point  in  question,  whether  every  thing  must  have 
a  cause  or  not;  and  therefore,  according  to  all  just  rea- 
soning, it  ought  never  to  be  taken  for  granted. 

They  are  still  more  frivolous  who  say,  that  every 
effect  must  have  a  cause,  because  it  is  implied  in  the 
very  idea  of  effect.  Every  effect  necessarily  presup- 
poses a  cause;  effect  being  a  relative  term,  of  which 
cause  is  the  correlative.  But  this  does  not  prove  that 
every  being  must  be  preceded  by  a  cause  ;  no  more  than 
it  follows,  because  every  husband  must  have  a  wife,  that 
therefore  every  man  must  be  married.  The  true  state 
of  the  question  is,  whether  every  object  which  begins  to 
exist,  must  owe  its  existence  to  a  cause  ;  and  this  I 
assert  neither  to  be  intuitively  nor  demonstratively  cer- 
tain, and  hope  to  have  proved  it  sufficiently  by  the  fore- 
going arguments. 

Since  it  is  not  from  knowledge  or  any  scientific  rea- 
soning, that  we  derive  the  opinion  of  the  necessity  of  a 
cause  to  every  new  production,  that  opinion  must  neces- 
sarily arise  from  observation  and  experience.  The  next 
question,  then,  should  naturally  be,  hoiv  experience  gives 
rise  to  such  a  principle?  But  as  I  find  it  will  be  more 
convenient  to  sink  this  question  in  the  following,  why  ive 
conclude,  that  such  particular  causes  must  necessarily  have  such 
particular  effects,  and  why  ive  form  an  inference  from  one  to 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  Ill 

another?  we  shall  make  that  the  subject  of  our  future 
inquiry.  It  will,  perhaps,  be  found  in  the  end,  that  the 
same  answer  will  serve  for  both  questions. 


SECTION  IV. 

OF  THE  COMPONENT  PARTS  OF  OUR  REASONINGS  CONCERNING 
CAUSE  AND  EFFECT. 

Though  the  mind  in  its  reasonings  from  causes  or 
effects,  carries  its  view  beyond  those  objects  which  it 
sees  or  remembers,  it  must  never  lose  sight  of  them 
entirely,  nor  reason  merely  upon  its  own  ideas,  without 
some  mixture  of  impressions,  or  at  least  of  ideas  of  the 
memory,  which  are  equivalent  to  impressions.  When 
we  infer  effects  from  causes,  we  must  establish  the  exist- 
ence of  these  causes ;  which  we  have  only  two  ways 
of  doing,  either  by  an  immediate  perception  of  our 
memory  or  senses,  or  by  an  inference  from  other  causes ; 
which  causes  again  we  must  ascertain  in  the  same  man- 
ner, either  by  a  present  impression  or  by  an  inference 
from  their  causes,  and  so  on,  till  we  arrive  at  some  object, 
which  wTe  see  or  remember.  It  is  impossible  for  us  to 
carry  on  our  inferences  in  infinitum  ;  and  the  only  thing 
that  can  stop  them,  is  an  impression  of  the  memory  or 
senses,  beyond  which  there  is  no  room  for  doubt  or 
inquiry. 

To  give  an  instance  of  this,  we  may  choose  any  point 
of  history,  and  consider  for  what  reason  we  either 
believe  or  reject  it.  Thus,  we  believe  that  Caesar  was 
killed  in  the  senate-house  on  the  ides  of  March,  and  that 
because  this  fact  is  established  on  the  unanimous  testi- 
mony of  historians,  who  agree  to  assign  this   precise 


112  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

time  and  place  to  that  event.  Here  are  certain  charac- 
ters and  letters  present  either  to  our  memory  or  senses ; 
which  characters  we  likewise  remember  to  have  been 
used  as  the  signs  of  certain  ideas ;  and  these  ideas  were 
either  in  the  minds  of  such  as  were  immediately  present 
at  that  action,  and  received  the  ideas  directly  from  its 
existence  ;  or  they  were  derived  from  the  testimony  of 
others,  and  that  again  from  another  testimony,  by  a  visi- 
ble gradation,  till  we  arrive  at  those  who  were  eye-wit- 
nesses and  spectators  of  the  event.  It  is  obvious  all  this 
chain  of  argument  or  connection  of  causes  and  effects, 
is  at  first  founded  on  those  characters  or  letters,  which 
are  seen  or  remembered,  and  that  without  the  authority 
either  of  the  memory  or  senses,  our  whole  reasoning 
would  be  chimerical  and  without  foundation.  Every 
link  of  the  chain  would  in  that  case  hang  upon  another ; 
but  there  would  not  be  any  thing  fixed  to  one  end  of  it, 
capable  of  sustaining  the  whole ;  and  consequently  there 
would  be  no  belief  nor  evidence.  And  this  actually  is 
the  case  with  all  hypothetical  arguments,  or  reasonings 
upon  a  supposition  ;  there  being  in  them  neither  any 
present  impression,  nor  belief  of  a  real  existence. 

I  need  not  observe,  that  it  is  no  just  objection  to  the 
present  doctrine,  that  we  can  reason  upon  our  past  con- 
clusions or  principles,  without  having  recourse  to  those 
impressions,  from  which  they  first  arose.  For  even  sup- 
posing these  impressions  should  be  entirely  effaced  from 
the  memory,  the  conviction  they  produced  may  still 
remain ;  and  it  is  equally  true,  that  all  reasonings  con- 
cerning causes  and  effects  are  originally  derived  from 
some  impression ;  in  the  same  manner,  as  the  assurance 
of  a  demonstration  proceeds  always  from  a  comparison 
of  ideas,  though  it  may  continue  after  the  comparison  is 
forgot. 


OF   THE  UNDERSTANDING.  113 

SECTION  V. 

OF   THE   IMPRESSIONS    OF   THE   SENSES   AND   MEMORY. 

In  this  kind  of  reasoning,  then,  from  causation,  we 
employ  materials,  which  are  of  a  mixed  and  heteroge- 
neous nature,  and  which,  however  connected,  are  yet 
essentially  different  from  each  other.  All  our  arguments 
concerning  causes  and  effects  consist  both  of  an  impres- 
sion of  the  memory  or  senses,  and  of  the  idea  of  that 
existence,  which  produces  the  object  of  the  impression, 
or  is  produced  by  it.  Here,  therefore,  we  have  three 
things  to  explain,  viz.  first,  the  original  impression. 
Secondly,  the  transition  to  the  idea  of  the  connected 
cause  or  effect.  Thirdly,  the  nature  and  qualities  of  that 
idea. 

As  to  those  impressions,  which  arise  from  the  senses, 
their  ultimate  cause  is,  in  my  opinion,  perfectly  inexpli- 
cable by  human  reason,  and  it  will  always  be  impossible 
to  decide  with  certainty,  whether  they  arise  immedi- 
ately from  the  object,  or  are  produced  by  the  creative 
power  of  the  mind,  or  are  derived  from  the  Author  of 
our  being.  Nor  is  such  a  question  any  way  material  to 
our  present  purpose.  We  may  draw  inferences  from  the 
coherence  of  our  perceptions,  whether  they  be  true  or 
false ;  whether  they  represent  nature  justly,  or  be  mere 
illusions  of  the  senses. 

When  we  search  for  the  characteristic,  which  dis- 
tinguishes the  memory  from  the  imagination,  we  must 
immediately  perceive,  that  it  cannot  lie  in  the  simple 
ideas  it  presents  to  us ;  since  both  these  faculties  bor- 
row their  simple  ideas  from  the  impressions,  and  can 
never  go  beyond  these  original  perceptions.   These  facul- 

vol.  i.  10 


114  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

ties  are  as  little  distinguished  from  each  other  by  the 
arrangement  of  their  complex  ideas.  For,  though  it  be 
a  peculiar  property  of  the  memory  to  preserve  the 
original  order  and  position  of  its  ideas,  while  the  imagi- 
nation transposes  and  changes  them  as  it  pleases ;  yet 
this  difference  is  not  sufficient  to  distinguish  them  in 
their  operation,  or  make  us  know  the  one  from  the 
other  ;  it  being  impossible  to  recall  the  past  impressions, 
in  order  to  compare  them  with  our  present  ideas,  and 
see  whether  their  arrangement  be  exactly  similar.  Since 
therefore  the  memory  is  known,  neither  by  the  order  of 
its  complex  ideas,  nor  the  nature  of  its  simple  ones ;  it 
follows,  that  the  difference  betwixt  it  and  the  imagina- 
tion lies  in  its  superior  force  and  vivacity.  A  man  may 
indulge  his  fancy  in  feigning  any  past  scene  of  adven- 
tures ;  nor  would  there  be  any  possibility  of  distinguish- 
ing this  from  a  remembrance  of  a  like  kind,  were  not 
the  ideas  of  the  imagination  fainter  and  more  obscure. 

It  frequently  happens,  that  when  two  men  have  been 
engaged  in  any  scene  of  action,  the  one  shall  remember 
it  much  better  than  the  other,  and  shall  have  all  the 
difficulty  in  the  world  to  make  his  companion  recollect 
it.  He  runs  over  several  circumstances  in  vain ;  men- 
tions the  time,  the  place,  the  company,  what  was  said, 
what  was  done  on  all  sides ;  till  at  last  he  hits  on  some 
lucky  circumstance,  that  revives  the  whole,  and  gives  his 
friend  a  perfect  memory  of  every  thing.  Here  the  per- 
son that  forgets,  receives  at  first  all  the  ideas  from  the 
discourse  of  the  other,  with  the  same  circumstances  of 
time  and  place  ;  though  he  considers  them  as  mere  fic- 
tions of  the  imagination.  But  as  soon  as  the  circum- 
stance is  mentioned  that  touches  the  memory,  the  very 
same  ideas  now  appear  in  a  new  light,  and  have,  in  a 
manner,  a  different  feeling  from  what  they  had  before. 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  115 


ft> 


Without  any  other  alteration,  beside  that  of  the  feeling, 
they  become  immediately  ideas  of  the  memory,  and  are 
assented  to. 

Since  therefore  the  imagination  can  represent  all  the 
same  objects  that  the  memory  can  offer  to  us,  and  since 
those  faculties  are  only  distinguished  by  the  different 
feeling  of  the  ideas  they  present,  it  may  be  proper  to 
consider  what  is  the  nature  of  that  feeling.  And  here 
I  believe  every  one  will  readily  agree  with  me,  that  the 
ideas  of  the  memory  are  more  strong  and  lively  than 
those  of  the  fancy. 

A  painter,  who  intended  to  represent  a  passion  or 
emotion  of  any  kind,  would  endeavor  to  get  a  sight  of 
a  person  actuated  by  a  like  emotion,  in  order  to  enliven 
his  ideas,  and  give  them  a  force  and  vivacity  superior  to 
what  is  found  in  those,  which  are  mere  fictions  of  the 
imagination.  The  more  recent  this  memory  is,  the  clearer 
is  the  idea ;  and  when,  after  a  long  interval,  he  would 
return  to  the  contemplation  of  his  object,  he  always 
finds  its  idea  to  be  much  decayed,  if  not  wholly  oblit- 
erated. We  are  frequently  in  doubt  concerning  the 
ideas  of  the  memory,  as  they  become  very  weak  and 
feeble ;  and  are  at  a  loss  to  determine  whether  any 
image  proceeds  from  the  fancy  or  the  memory,  when  it 
is  not  drawn  in  such  lively  colors  as  distinguish  that- 
latter  faculty.  I  think  I  remember  such  an  event,  says 
one ;  but  am  not  sure.  A  long  tract  of  time  has  almost 
worn  it  out  of  my  memory,  and  leaves  me  uncertain 
whether  or  not  it  be  the  pure  offspring  of  my  fancy. 

And  as  an  idea  of  the  memory,  by  losing  its  force 
and  vivacity,  may  degenerate  to  such  a  degree,  as  to  be 
taken  for  an  idea  of  the  imagination  5  so,  on  the  other 
hand,  an  idea  of  the  imagination  may  acquire  such  a 
force  and  vivacity,  as  to  pass  for  an  idea  of  the  memory, 


116  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

and  counterfeit  its  effects  on  the  belief  and  judgment. 
This  is  noted  in  the  case  of  liars ;  who  by  the  frequent 
repetition  of  their  lies,  come  at  last  to  believe  and  re- 
member them,  as  realities  ;  custom  and  habit  having,  in 
this  case,  as  in  many  others,  the  same  influence  on  the 
mind  as  nature,  and  infixing  the  idea  with  equal  force 
and  vigor. 

Thus  it  appears,  that  the  belief  or  assent,  which  always 
attends  the  memory  and  senses,  is  nothing  but  the 
vivacity  of  those  perceptions  they  present;  and  that 
this  alone  distinguishes  them  from  the  imagination.  To 
believe  is  in  this  case  to  feel  an  immediate  impression 
of  the  senses,  or  a  repetition  of  that  impression  in  the 
memory.  It  is  merely  the  force  and  liveliness  of  the 
perception,  which  constitutes  the  first  act  of  the  judg- 
ment, and  lays  the  foundation  of  that  reasoning,  which 
we  build  upon  it,  when  we  trace  the  relation  of  cause 
and  effect. 


SECTION  VI. 

OF   THE   INFERENCE   FROM   THE   IMPRESSION   TO    THE   IDEA. 

It  is  easy  to  observe,  that  in  tracing  this  relation,  the 
inference  we  draw  from  cause  to  effect,  is  not  derived 
merely  from  a  survey  of  these  particular  objects,  and 
from  such  a  penetration  into  their  essences  as  may  dis- 
cover the  dependence  of  the  one  upon  the  other.  There 
is  no  object  which  implies  the  existence  of  any  other,  if 
we  consider  these  objects  in  themselves,  and  nevfer  look 
beyond  the  ideas  which  we  form  of  them.  Such  an  in- 
ference would  amount  to  knowledge,  and  would  imply 
the  absolute  contradiction  and  impossibility  of  conceiv- 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  117 

ing  any  thing  different.  „  But  as  all  distinct  ideas  are 
separable,  it  is  evident  there  can  be  no  impossibility  of 
that  kind.  When  we  pass  from  a  present  impression  to 
the  idea  of  any  object,  we  might  possibly  have  separated 
the  idea  from  the  impression,  and  have  substituted  any 
other  idea  in  its  room. 

It   is  therefore  by  experience  only  that  we  can  infers/ 

*  the  existence  of  one  object  from  that  of  another.  The 
nature  of  experience  is  this,  f  We  remember  to  have 
had  frequent  instances  of  the  existence  of  one  species 
of  objects ;  and  also  remember,  that  the  individuals  of 
another  species  of  objects  have  always  attended  them, 
and  have  existed  in  a  regular  order  of  contiguity  and 
succession  with  regard  to  them.  Thus  we  remember 
to  have  seen  that  species  of  object  we  call  flame,  and 
to  have  felt  that  species  of  sensation  we  call  heat.  We 
likewise  call  to  mind  their  constant  conjunction  in  all 
past  instances.  Without  any  further  ceremony,  we 
call  the  one  cause,  and  the  other  effect,  and  infer  the 
existence  of  the  one  from  that  of  the  other)  In  all 
those  instances  from  which  we  learn  the  conjunction  of 
particular  causes  and  effects,  both  the  causes  and  effects 
have  been  perceived  by  the  senses,  and  are  remembered : 
but  in  all  cases,  wherein  we  reason  concerning  them, 
there  is  only  one  perceived  or  remembered,  and  the 
other  is  supplied  in  conformity  to  our  past  experience. 

Thus,  in  advancing,  we  have  insensibly  discovered  a 
new  relation  betwixt  cause  and  effect  when  we  least 
expected  it,  and  were  entirely  employed  upon  another 

^subject.     This  relation  is  their  constant  conjunction.     Con- 1\ 
tiguity  and  succession  are  not  sufficient  to  make  us  pro- 
nounce any  two  objects  to  be  cause  and  effect,  unless 
we  perceive  that  these  two  relations  are  preserved  in 
several  instances.     We  may  now  see  the  advantage  of 

10* 


1 


118  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

quitting  the  direct  survey  of  this  relation,  in  order  to 
discover  the  nature  of  that  necessary  connection  which 
makes  so  essential  a  part  of  it.     There  are  hopes,  that 
by  this  means  we  may  at  last  arrive  at  our  proposed 
end ;  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  this  new-discovered  re- 
lation of  a   constant  conjunction  seems  to  advance  us 
but  very  little  in  our  way.  |\  For  it  implies  no  more  than 
this,  that  like  objects  have  always  been  placed  in  like 
relations   of  contiguity   and  succession;  and    it   seems 
evident,  at  least  at  first  sight,  that  by  this  means  we 
can  never  discover  any  new  idea,  and  can  only  multiply, 
but  not  enlarge,  the  objects  of  our  mind.  U  It  may  be 
thought,  that  what  we  learn  not  from  one  object,  we 
can  never  learn  from  a  hundred,  which  are  all  of  the 
same  kind,  and  are  perfectly  resembling  in  every  cir- 
cumstance.    As  our  senses  show  us  in  one  instance  two 
bodies,  or  motions,  or  qualities,  in  certain  relations  of 
succession  and  contiguity,  so  our  memory  presents  us 
only  with  a  multitude  of  instances  wherein  we  always 
find  like  bodies,  motions,  or  qualities,  in  like  relations. 
From  the  mere  repetition  of  any  past  impression,  even 
to  infinity,  there  never  will  arise  any  new  original  idea, 
such  as  that  of  a  necessary  connection  ;  and  the  number 
of  impressions  has  in  this  case  no  more  effect  than  if 
we  confined  ourselves  to  one  only.     But  though  this 
reasoning  seems  just  and  obvious,  yet,  as  it  would  be 
folly  to  despair  too  soon,  we  shall  continue  the  thread 
of  our  discourse  ;  and  having  found,  that  after  the  dis- 
covery of  the  constant  conjunction  of  any  objects,  we 
always  draw  an  inference  from  one  object  to  another, 
we  shall  now  examine  the  nature  of  that  inference,  and 
of  the  transition  from  the  impression  to  the  idea.     Per- 
haps it  will  appear  in  the  end,  that  the  necessary  con- 
nection depends  on  the  inference,  instead  of  the  infer- 
ence's depending  on  the  necessary  connection. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  119 

Since  it  appears,  that  the  transition  from  an  impression 
present  to  the  memory  or  senses  to  the  idea  of  an  object, 
which  we  call  cause  or  effect,  is  founded  on  past  expe- 
rience, and  on  our  remembrance  of  their  constant  conjunc- 
tion, the  next  question  is,  whether  experience  produces 
i  the  idea  by  means  of  the  understanding  or  imagination  ;  \\ 
whether  we  are  determined  by  reason  to  make  the  tran- 
sition, or  by  a  certain  association  and  relation  of  per- 
ceptions. If  reason  determined  us,  it  would  proceed 
upon  that  principle,  that  instances,  of  ivhich  we  have  had  no 
experience,  must  resemble  those  of  ivhich  ive  have  had  expedience, 
and  that  the  course  of  nature  continues  always  uniformly  the 
same.  In  order,  therefore,  to  clear  up  this  matter,  let  us 
consider  all  the  arguments  upon  which  such  a  proposi- 
tion may  be  supposed  to  be  founded ;  and  as  these  must 
be  derived  either  from  knowledge  or  probability,  let  us 
cast  our  eye  on  each  of  these  degrees  of  evidence,  and 
see  whether  they  afford  any  just  conclusion  of  this 
nature. 

Our  foregoing  method  of  reasoning  will  easily  con- 
vince us,  that  there  can  be  no  demonstrative  arguments  to 
prove,  that  those  instances  of  ivhich  we  have  had  no  experience 
resemble  those  of  which  we  have  had  experience.  We  can  at 
least  conceive  a  change  in  the  course  of  nature ;  which 
sufficiently  proves  that  such  a  change  is  not  absolutely 
impossible.  To  form  a  clear  idea  of  any  thing  is  an  un- 
deniable argument  for  its  possibility,  and  is  alone  a 
refutation  of  any  pretended  demonstration  against  it. 

Probability,  as  it  discovers  not  the  relations  of  ideas, 
considered  as  such,  but  only  those  of  objects,  must,  in 
some  respects,  be  founded  on  the  impressions  of  our 
memory  and  senses,  and  in  some  respects  on  our  ideas. 
Were  there  no  mixture  of  any  impression  in  our  pro- 
bable reasonings,  the  conclusion  would  be  entirely  chi- 


120  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

merical :  and  were  there  no  mixture  of  ideas,  the  action 
of  the  mind,  in  observing  the  relation,  would,  properly 
speaking,  be  sensation,  not  reasoning.  It  is,  therefore, 
necessary,  that  in  all  probable  reasonings  there  be  some- 
thing present  to  the  mind,  either  seen  or  remembered ; 
and  that  from  this  we  infer  something  connected  with  it, 
which  is  not  seen  nor  remembered. 

The  only  connection  or  relation  of  objects,  which  can 
lead  us  beyond  the  immediate  impressions  of  our 
memory  and  senses,  is  that  of  cause  and  effect ;  and  that 
because  it  is  the  only  one,  on  which  we  can  found  a 
just  inference  from  one  object  to  another.  The  idea  of 
cause  and  effect  is  derived  from  experience,  which  informs 
us,  that  such  particular  objects,  in  all  past  instances, 
have  been  constantly  conjoined  with  each  other  :  and  as 
an  object  similar  to  one  of  these  is  supposed  to  be  im- 
mediately present  in  its  impression,  we  thence  presume 
on  the  existence  of  one  similar  to  its  usual  attendant. 
According  to  this  account  of  things,  which  is,  I  think,  in 
every  point  unquestionable,  probability  is  founded  on 
the  presumption  of  a  resemblance  betwixt  those  objects 
of  which  we  have  had  experience,  and  those  of  which 
we  have  had  none ;  and,  therefore,  it  is  impossible  this 
presumption  can  arise  from  probability.  The  same  prin- 
ciple cannot  be  both  the  cause  and  effect  of  another; 
and  this  is,  perhaps,  the  only  proposition  concerning  that 
relation,  which  is  either  intuitively  or  demonstratively 
certain. 

Should  any  one  think  to  elude  this  argument ;  and 
without  determining  whether  our  reasoning  on  this  sub- 
ject be  derived  from  demonstration  or  probability,  pre- 
tend that  all  conclusions  from  causes  and  effects  are 
built  on  solid  reasoning:  I  can  only  desire  that  this 
reasoning  may  be  produced,  in  order  to  be  exposed  to 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  121 

our  examination.  It  may  perhaps  be  said,  that  after 
experience  of  the  constant  conjunction  of  certain  objects, 
we  reason  in  the  following  manner.  Such  an  object  is 
always  found  to  produce  another.  It  is  impossible  it 
could  have  this  effect,  if  it  was  not  endowed  with  a 
power  of  production.  The  power  necessarily  implies 
the  effect;  and  therefore  there  is  a  just  foundation  for 
drawing  a  conclusion  from  the  existence  of  one  object 
to  that  of  its  usual  attendant.  The  past  production 
implies  a  power  :  the  power  implies  a  new  production : 
and  the  new  production  is  what  we  infer  from  the 
power  and  the  past  production. 

It  were  easy  for  me  to  show  the  weakness  of  this 
reasoning,  were  I  willing  to  make  use  of  those  observa- 
tions I  have  already  made,  that  the  idea  of  production  is 
the  same  with  that  of  causation,  and  that  no  existence 
certainly  and  demonstratively  implies  a  power  in  any 
other  object ;  or  were  it  proper  to  anticipate  what  I 
shall  have  occasion  to  remark  afterwards  concerning  the 
idea  we  form  of  power  and  efficacy.  But  as  such  a  method 
of  proceeding  may  seem  either  to  weaken  my  system, 
by  resting  one  part  of  it  on  another,  or  to  breed  a  con- 
fusion in  my  reasoning,  I  shall  endeavor  to  maintain  my 
present  assertion  without  any  such  assistance. 

It  shall  therefore  be  allowed  for  a  moment,  that  the 
production  of  one  object  by  another  in  any  one  instance 
implies  a  power ;  and  that  this  power  is  connected  with 
its  effect.  But  it  having  been  already  proved,  that  the 
power  lies  not  in  the  sensible  qualities  of  the  cause ; 
and  there  being  nothing  but  the  sensible  qualities  pres- 
ent to  us ;  I  ask,^why  in  other  instances  you  presume 
that  the  same  power  still  exists,  merely  upon  the  ap- 
pearance of  these  qualities  ?  Your  appeal  to  past 
experience  decides  nothing  in  the  present  case ;  and  at 


122  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

the  utmost  can  only  prove,  that  that  very  object,  which 
produced  any  other,  was  at  that  very  instant  endowed 
with  such  a  power ;  but  can  never  prove,  that  the  same 
power  must  continue  in  the  same  object  or  collection  of 
sensible  qualities ;  much  less,  that  a  like  power  is  always 
conjoined  with  like  sensible  qualities.  Should  it  be  said, 
that  we  have  experience,  that  the  same  power  continues 
united  with  the  same  object,  and  that  like  objects  are 
endowed  with  like  powers,  I  would  renew  my  question, 
ivhy  from  this  experience  we  form  any  conclusion  beyond  those 
past  instances,  of  which  ive  have  had  experience  ?  If  you  answer 
this  question  in  the  same  manner  as  the  preceding,  your 
answer  gives  still  occasion  to  a  new  question  of  the  same 
kind,  even  in  infinitum ;  which  clearly  proves,  that  the 
foregoing  reasoning  had  no  just  foundation. 

Thus,  not  only  our  reason  fails  us  in  the  discovery  of 
the  ultimate  connection  of  causes  and  effects,  but  even  after 
experience  has  informed  us  of  their  constant  conjunction, 
it  is  impossible  for  us  to  satisfy  ourselves  by  our  reason, 
why  we  should  extend  that  experience  beyond  those 
particular  instances  which  have  fallen  under  our  obser- 
vation. We  suppose,  but  are  never  able  to  prove,  that 
there  must  be  a  resemblance  betwixt  those  objects,  of 
which  we  have  had  experience,  and  those  which  lie 
beyond  the  reach  of  our  discovery. 

We  have  already  taken  notice  of  certain  relations, 
which  make  us  pass  from  one  object  to  another,  even 
though  there  be  no  reason  to  determine  us  to  that  tran- 
sition ;  and  this  we  may  establish  for  a  general  rule,  that 
wherever  the  mind  constantly  and  uniformly  makes  a 
transition  without  any  reason,  it  is  influenced  by  these 
relations.  Now,  this  is  exactly  the  present  case.  Reason 
u  can  never  show  us  the  connection  of  one  object  with  U 
*  another,  though  aided  by  experience,   and  the    obser-' 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  123 

vation  of  their  constant  conjunction  in  all  past  instances. 
When  the  mind  therefore  passes  from  the  idea  or  im- 
pression of  one  object  to  the  idea  or  belief  of  another,  it 
is  not  determined  by  reason,  but  by  certain  principles, 
which  associate  together  the  ideas  of  these  objects,  and 
unite  them  in  the  imagination.)  Had  ideas  no  more 
union  in  the  fancy,  than  objects  seem  to  have  to  the 
understanding,  we  could  never  draw  any  inference  from 
causes  to  effects,  nor  repose  belief  in  any  matter  of  fact. 

//  The  inference  therefore  depends  solely  on  the  union  of  // 

i(  ideas. 

The  principles  of  union  among  ideas,  I  have  reduced 
to  three  general  ones,  and  have  asserted,  that  the  idea 
or  impression  of  any  object  naturally  introduces  the  idea 
of  any  other  object,  that  is  resembling;,  contiguous  to,  or 
connected  with  it.  These  principles  I  allow  to  be  neither 
the  infallible  nor  the  sole  causes  of  a  union  among  ideas. 
They  are  not  the  infallible  causes.  For  one  may  fix  his 
attention  during  some  time  on  any  one  object  without 
looking  further.  They  are  not  the  sole  causes.  For 
the  thought  has  evidently  a  very  irregular  motion  in 
running  along  its  objects,  and  may  leap  from  the 
heavens  to  the  earth,  from  one  end  of  the  creation  to 
the  other,  without  any  certain  method  or  order.  But 
though  I  allow  this  weakness  in  these  three  relations, 

r  and  this  irregularity  in  the  imagination ;  yet  I  assert, 

U  that  the  only  general  principles  which  associate  ideas,  are  II 

I  resemblance,  contiguity,  and  causation. 

There  is  indeed  a  principle  of  union  among  ideas, 
which  at  first  sight  may  be  esteemed  different  from  any 
of  these,  but  will  be  found  at  the  bottom  to  depend  on 
the  same  origin.  When  every  individual  of  any  species 
of  objects  is  found  by  experience  to  be  constantly  united 
with  an  individual  of  another  species,  the  appearance  of 


124  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

any  new  individual  of  either  species  naturally  conveys 
the  thought  to  its  usual  attendant.  Thus,  because  such 
a  particular  idea  is  commonly  annexed  to  such  a  partic- 
ular word,  nothing  is  required  but  the  hearing  of  that 
word  to  produce  the  correspondent  idea ;  and  it  will 
scarce  be  possible  for  the  mind,  by  its  utmost  efforts,  to 
prevent  that  transition.  In  this  case  it  is  not  abso- 
lutely necessary,  that  upon  hearing  such  a  particular 
sound,  we  should  reflect  on  any  past  experience,  and 
consider  what  idea  has  been  usually  connected  with  the 
sound.  The  imagination  of  itself  supplies  the  place  of 
this  reflection,  and  is  so  accustomed  to  pass  from  the 
word  to  the  idea,  that  it  interposes  not  a  moment's 
delay  betwixt  the  hearing  of  the  one,  and  the  concep- 
tion of  the  other. 

But  though  I  acknowledge  this  to  be  a  true  principle 
of  association  among  ideas,  I  assert  it  to  be  the  very 
same  with  that  betwixt  the  ideas  of  cause  and  effect,  and 
to  be  an  essential  part  in  all  our  reasonings  from  that 
relation.  |]We  have  no  other  notion  of  cause  and  effect, 
but  that  of  certain  objects,  which  have  been  always  con- 
joined together,  and  which  in  all  past  instances  have  been 
found  inseparable.  We  cannot  penetrate  into  the  reason 
of  the  conjunction. \\{We  only  observe  the  thing  itself, 
and  always  find  that,  from  the  constant  conjunction,  the 
objects  require  a  union  in  the  imagination./  When  the 
impression  of  one  becomes  present  to  us,  we  imme- 
diately form  an  idea  of  its  usual  attendant ;  and  con- 
sequently we  may  establish  this  as  one  part  of  the 
definition  of  an  opinion  or  belief,  that  it  is  an  idea  related 
to  or  associated  with  a  present  impression. 

Thus,  though  causation  be  a  philosophical  relation,  as 
implying  contiguity,  succession,  and  constant  conjunc- 
tion, yet  it  is  only  so  far  as  it  is  a  natural  relation,  and 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  125 

produces  a  union  among  our  ideas,  that  we  are  able  to 
reason  upon  it,  or  draw  any  inference  from  it. 


SECTION  VII. 

OF  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  IDEA  OR  BELIEF. 

.  The  idea  of  an  object  is  an  essential  part  of  the  belief 
of  it,  but  not  the  whole.  We  conceive  many  things 
which  we  do  not  believe.  In  order,  then,  to  discover 
more  fully  the  nature  of  belief,  or  the  qualities  of 
those  ideas  we  assent  to,  let  us  weigh  the  following 
considerations. 

It  is  evident,  that  all  reasonings  from  causes  or  effects 
terminate  in  conclusions  concerning  matter  of  fact ;  that 
is,  concerning  the  existence  of  objects  or  of  their  quali- 
ties. It  is  also  evident,  that  the  idea  of  existence  is 
nothing  different  from  the  idea  of  any  object,  and  that 
when  after  the  simple  conception  of  any  thing  we  would 
conceive  it  as  existent,  we  in  reality  make  no  addition 
to  or  alteration  on  our  first  idea.  Thus,  when  we  affirm 
that  God  is  existent,  we  simply  form  the  idea  of  such  a 
Being  as  he  is  represented  to  us :  nor  is  the  existence,, 
which  we  attribute  to  him,  conceived  by  a  particular 
idea,  which  we  join  to  the  idea  of  his  other  qualities,, 
and  can  again  separate  and  distinguish  from  them.  But 
I  go  further ;  and,  not  content  with  asserting,  that  the 
conception  of  the  existence  of  any  object  is  no  addition 
to  the  simple  conception  of  it,  I  likewise  maintain,  that 
the  belief  of  the  existence  joins  no  new  ideas  to  those, 
which  compose  the  idea  of  the  object.  When  I  think 
of  God,  when  I  think  of  him  as  existent,  and  when  I 

vol.  i.  11 


126  OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

believe  him  to  be  existent,  my  idea  of  him  neither  in- 
creases nor  diminishes.  But  as  it  is  certain  there  is  a 
great  difference  betwixt  the  simple  conception  of  the 
existence  of  an  object,  and  the  belief  of  it,  and  as  this 
difference  lies  not  in  the  parts  or  composition  of  the 
idea  which  we  conceive ;  it  follows,  that  it  must  lie  in 
the  manner  in  which  we  conceive  it. 

Suppose  a  person  present  with  me,  who  advances 
propositions,  to  which  I  do  not  assent,  that  Ccesar  died  in 
his  bed,  that  silver  is  more  fusible  than  lead,  or  mercury  heavier 
than  gold ;  it  is  evident,  that,  notwithstanding  my  incre- 
dulity, I  clearly  understand  his  meaning,  and  form  all 
the  same  ideas  which  he  forms.  My  imagination  is 
endowed  with  the  same  powers  as  his ;  nor  is  it  pos- 
sible for  i  him  to  conceive  any  idea,  which  I  cannot  con- 
ceive ;  or  conjoin  any,  which  I  cannot  conjoin.  I  there- 
fore ask,  wherein  consists  the  difference  betwixt  believ- 
ing and  disbelieving  any  proposition?  The  answer  is 
easy  with  regard  to  propositions,  that  are  proved  by 
intuition  or  demonstration.  In  that  case,  the  person 
wrho  assents  not  only  conceives  the  ideas  according  to 
the  proposition,  but  is  necessarily  determined  to  con- 
ceive them  in  that  particular  manner,  either  imme- 
diately, or  by  the  interposition  of  other  ideas.  Whatever 
is  absurd  is  unintelligible ;  nor  is  it  possible  for  the  imagi- 
nation to  conceive  any  thing  contrary  to  a  demonstration. 
But  as,  in  reasonings  from  causation,  and  concerning 
matters  of  fact,  this  absolute  necessity  cannot  take  place, 
and  the  imagination  is  free  to  conceive  both  sides  of  the 
question,  I  still  ask,  tvherein  consists  the  difference  bctivixt 
incredulity  and  belief  ?  since,  in  both  cases  the  conception 
of  the  idea  is  equally  possible  and  requisite. 

It  will  not  be   a   satisfactory  answer  to  say,  that  a 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  127 

person,  who  does  not  assent  to  a  proposition  yon  ad- 
vance j  after  having  conceived  the  object  in  the  same 
manner  with  you,  immediately  conceives  it  in  a  different 
manner,  and  has  different  ideas  of  it.  This  answer  is 
unsatisfactory ;  not  because  it  contains  any  falsehood, 
but  because  it  discovers  not  all  the  truth.  It  is  confessed 
that,  in  all  cases  wherein  we  dissent  from  any  person, 
we  conceive  both  sides  of  the  question ;  but  as  we  can 
believe  only  one,  it  evidently  follows,  that  the  belief 
must  make  some  difference  betwixt  that  conception  to 
wrhich  we  assent,  and  that  from  which  we  dissent.  We 
may  mingle,  and  unite,  and  separate,  and  confound,  and 
vary  our  ideas  in  a  hundred  different  ways ;  but  until 
there  appears  some  principle,  which  fixes  one  of  these 
different  situations,  we  have  in  reality  no  opinion7:  and 
this  principle,  as  it  plainly  makes  no  addition  to  our 
precedent  ideas,  can  only  change  the  manner  of  our  con- 
ceiving them.  / 

All  the  perceptions  of  the  mind  are  of  two  kinds,  viz. 
impressions  and  ideas,  which  differ  from  each  other  only 
in  their  different  degrees  of  force  and  vivacity.  Our 
ideas  are  copied  from  our  impressions,  and  represent 
them  in  all  their  parts.  When  you  would  any  way  vary 
the  idea  of  a  particular  object,  you  can  only  increase  or 
diminish  its  force  and  vivacity.  If  you  make  any  other 
change  on  it,  it  represents  a  different  object  or  impres- 
sion. The  case  is  the  same  as  in  colors,  A  particular 
shade  of  any  color  may  acquire  a  new  degree  of  liveli- 
ness or  brightness  without  any  other  variation.  But 
wrhen  you  produce  any  other  variation,  it  is  no  longer 
the  same  shade  or  color ;  so  that  as  belief  does  nothing 
but  vary  the  manner  in  which  we  conceive  any  object, 
it  can  only  bestow  on  our  ideas  an  additional  force  and 
vivacity.     An  opinion,  therefore,  or  belief,  may  be  most 


128  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

accurately  defined,  a  lively  idea  related  to  or  associated  ivith 
a  present  impression* 

Here  are  the  heads  of  those  arguments,  which  lead  us 
to  this  conclusion.  When  we  infer  the  existence  of  an 
object  from  that  of  others,  some  object  must  always  be 
present  either  to  the  memory  or  senses,  in  order  to  be  the 
foundation  of  our  reasoning;  since  the  mind  cannot  run 
up  with  its  inferences  in  infinitum.  Eeason  can  never 
satisfy  us  that  the  existence  of  any  one  object  does  ever 
imply  that  of  another ;  so  that  when  we  pass  from  the 


*  We  may  here  take  occasion  to  observe  a  very  remarkable  error,  which, 
being  frequently  inculcated  in  the  schools,  has  become  a  kind  of  established 
maxim,  and  is  universally  received  by  all  logicians.  This  error  consists  in  the 
vulgar  division  of  the  acts  of  the  understanding  into  conception,  judgment,  and 
reasoning,  and  in  the  definitions  we  give  of  them.  Conception  is  defined  to 
be  the  simple  survey  of  one  or  more  ideas  :  judgment  to  be  the  separating 
or  uniting  of  different  ideas:  reasoning  to  be  the  separating  or  uniting  of 
different  ideas  by  the  interposition  of  others,  which  show  the  relation  they  bear 
to  each  other.  But  these  distinctions  and  definitions  are  faulty  in  very  con- 
siderable articles.  For,  first,  it  is  far  from  being  true,  that,  in  every  judgment 
which  we  form,  we  unite  two  different  ideas ;  since  in  that  proposition,  God  is, 
or  indeed,  any  other,  which  regards  existence,  the  idea  of  existence  is  no  dis- 
tinct idea,  which  we  unite  with  that  of  the  object,  and  which  is  capable  of 
forming  a  compound  idea  by  the  union.  Secondly,  as  we  can  thus  form  a  pro- 
position, which  contains  only  one  idea,  so  we  may  exert  our  reason  with- 
out employing  more  than  two  ideas,  and  without  having  recourse  to  a  third  to 
serve  as  a  medium  betwixt  them.  We  infer  a  cause  immediately  from  its 
effect ;  and  this  inference  is  not  only  a  true  species  of  reasoning,  but  the 
strongest  of  all  others,  and  more  convincing  than  when  we  interpose  another 
idea  to  connect  the  two  extremes.  What  we  may  in  general  affirm  concern- 
ing these  three  acts  of  the  understanding  is,  that  taking  them  in  a  proper 
light,  they  all  resolve  themselves  into  the  first,  and  are  nothing  but  particular 
ways  of  conceiving  our  objects.  Whether  we  consider  a  single  object,  or 
several ;  whether  we  dwell  on  these  objects,  or  run  from  them  to  others  ;  and 
in  whatever  form  or  order  we  survey  them,  the  act  of  the  mind  exceeds  not  a 
simple  conception  ;  and  the  only  remarkable  difference,  which  occurs  on  this 
occasion,  is,  when  we  join  belief  to  the  conception,  and  are  persuaded  of  the 
truth  of  what  we  conceive.  This  act  of  the  mind  has  never  yet  been  explained 
by  any  philosopher ;  and  therefore  I  am  at  liberty  to  propose  my  hypothesis 
concerning  it ;  which  is,  that  it  is  only  a  strong  and  steady  conception  of  any 
idea,  and  such  as  approaches  in  some  measure  to  an  immediate  impression. 


II 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  129 

impression  of  one  to  the  idea  or  belief  of  another,  we 
are  not  determined  by  reason,  but  by  custom,  or  a  prin- 
ciple of  association,  (jlut  belief  is  somewhat  more  than 
a  simple  idea.  It  is  a  particular  manner  of  forming  an 
idea :  and  as  the  same  idea  can  only  be  varied  by  a 
variation  of  its  degrees  of  force  and  vivacity ;  it  follows  . 
upon  the  whole,  that  belief  is  a  lively  idea  produced  by  \j 
j^a  relation  to  a  present  impression,  according  to  the  fore- 
. going  definition. 

This  operation  of  the  mind,  which  forms  the  belief  of 
any  matter  of  fact,  seems  hitherto  to  have  been  one  of 
the  greatest  mysteries  of  philosophy ;  though  no  one 
has  so  much  as  suspected,  that  there  was  any  difficulty 
in  explaining  it.  For  my  part,  I  must  own,  that  I  find 
a  considerable  difficulty  in  the  case  ;  and  that  even  when 
I  think  I  understand  the  subject  perfectly,  I  am  at  a  loss 
for  terms  to  express  my  meaning.  I  conclude,  by  an 
induction  which  seems  to  me  very  evident,  that  an 
opinion  or  belief  is  nothing  but  an  idea,  that  is  different 
from  a  fiction,  not  in  the  nature,  or  the  order  of  its 
parts,  but  in  the  manner  of  its  being  conceived.  But 
when  I  would  explain  this  manner,  I  scarce  find  any 
word  that  fully  answers  the  case,  but  am  obliged  to 
have  recourse  to  every  one's  feeling,  in  order  to  give 
him  a  perfect  notion  of  this  operation  of  the  mind.  An 
idea  assented  to  feels  different  from  a  fictitious  idea,  that 
the  fancy  alone  presents  to  us:  and  this  different  feeling 
I  endeavor  to  explain  by  calling  it  a  superior  force,  or 
vivacity,  or  solidity,  or  firmness,  or  steadiness.  This  variety 
of  terms,  which  may  seem  so  unphilosophical,  is  intended 
only  to  express  that  act  of  the  mind,  which  renders 
realities  more  present  to  us  than  fictions,  causes  them 
to  weigh  more  in  the  thought,  and  gives  them  a  superior 
influence  on  the  passions  and  imagination.     Provided 

11* 


130  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

we  agree  about  the  thing,  it  is  needless  to  dispute  about 
the  terms.  The  imagination  has  the  command  over  all 
its  ideas,  and  can  join,  and  mix,  and  vary  them  in  all 
the  ways  possible.  It  may  conceive  objects  with  all  the 
circumstances  of  place  and  time.  It  may  set  them,  in  a 
manner,  before  our  eyes  in  their  true  colors,  just  as  they 
might  have  existed.  But  as  it  is  impossible  that  that 
faculty  can  ever  of  itself  reach  belief,  it  is  evident,  that 
belief  consists  not  in  the  nature  and  order  of  our  ideas, 
but  in  the  manner  of  their  conception,  and  in  their 
feeling  to  the  mind.  I  confess,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
explain  perfectly  this  feeling  or  manner  of  conception. 
We  may  make  use  of  words  that  express  something 
near  it.  But  its  true  and  proper  name  is  belief,  which  is 
a  term  that  every  one  sufficiently  understands  in  com- 
mon life.  And  in  philosophy,  we  can  go  no  further 
than  assert,  that  it  is  something  felt  by  the  mind,  which 
distinguishes  the  ideas  of  the  judgment  from  the  fictions 
of  the  imagination.  It  gives  them  more  force  and  influ- 
ence ;  makes  them  appear  of  greater  importance ;  infixes 
them  in  the  mind ;  and  renders  them  the  governing 
principles  of  all  our  actions. 

This  definition  will  also  be  found  to  be  entirely  con- 
formable to  every  one's  feeling  and  experience.  Nothing 
is  more  evident,  than  that  those  ideas,  to  which  we 
assent,  are  more  strong,  firm,  and  vivid,  than  the  loose 
reveries  of  a  castle-builder.  If  one  person  sits  down  to 
read  a  book  as  a  romance,  and  another  as  a  true  history, 
they  plainly  receive  the  same  ideas,  and  in  the  same 
order ;  nor  does  the  incredulity  of  the  one,  and  the 
belief  of  the  other,  hinder  them  from  putting  the  very 
same  sense  upon  their  author.  His  words  produce  the 
same  ideas  in  both ;  though  his  testimony  has  not  the 
same  influence  on  them.     The  latter  has  a  more  lively 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  131 

conception  of  all  the  incidents.  He  enters  deeper  into 
the  concerns  of  the  persons :  represents  to  himself  their 
actions,  and  characters,  and  friendships,  and  enmities: 
he  even  goes  so  far  as  to  form  a  notion  of  their  features, 
and  air,  and  person.  While  the  former,  who  gives  no 
credit  to  the  testimony  of  the  author,  has  a  more  faint 
and  languid  conception  of  all  these  particulars,  and, 
except  on  account  of  the  style  and  ingenuity  of  the 
composition,  can  receive  little  entertainment  from  it. 


SECTION   VIII. 

OF   THE    CAUSES     OF    BELIEF. 

Having  thus  explained  the  nature  of  belief,  and  shown 
that  it  consists  in  a  lively  idea  related  to  a  present 
impression ;  let  us  now  proceed  to  examine  from  what 
principles  it  is  derived,  and  what  bestows  the  vivacity 
on  the  idea. 

I  would  willingly  establish  it  as  a  general  maxim  in 
the  science  of  human  nature,  that  token  any  impression 
becomes  present  to  ns,  it  not  only  transports  the  mind  to  such 
ideas  as  are  related  to  it,  hut  li/mvise  communicates  to  them  a 
share  of  its  force  and  vivacity.  All  the  operations  of  the 
mind  depend,  in  a  great  measure,  on  its  disposition  when 
it  performs  them ;  and  according  as  the  spirits  are  more 
or  less  elevated,  and  the  attention  more  or  less  fixed,  the 
action  will  always  have  more  or  less  vigour  and  vivacity. 
When,  therefore,  any  object  is  presented  which  elevates 
and  enlivens  the  thought,  every  action,  to  which  the 
mind  applies  itself,  will  be  more  strong  and  vivid,  as 
long  as  that  disposition  continues.  Now,  it  is  evident 
the  continuance  of  the  disposition  depends  entirely  on 


132  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

the  objects  about  which  the  mind  is  employed ;  and  that 
any  new  object  naturally  gives  a  new  direction  to  the 
spirits,  and  changes  the  disposition ;  as  on  the  contrary, 
when  the  mind  fixes  constantly  on  the  same  object,  or 
passes  easily  and  insensibly  along  related  objects,  the 
disposition  has  a  much  longer  duration.  Hence  it 
happens,  that  when  the  mind  is  once  enlivened  by  a 
present  impression,  it  proceeds  to  form  a  more  lively 
idea  of  the  related  objects,  by  a  natural  transition  of  the 
disposition  from  the  one  to  the  other.  The  change  of 
the  objects  is  so  easy,  that  the  mind  is  scarce  sensible  of 
it,  but  applies  itself  to  the  conception  of  the  related 
idea  with  all  the  force  and  vivacity  it  acquired  from  the 
present  impression. 

If,  in  considering  the  nature  of  relation,  and  that 
facility  of  transition  which  is  essential  to  it,  we  can 
satisfy  ourselves  concerning  the  reality  of  this  pheno- 
menon, it  is  well :  but  I  must  confess  I  place  my  chief 
confidence  in  experience  to  prove  so  material  a  principle. 
We  may  therefore  observe,  as  the  first  experiment  to 
our  present  purpose,  that  upon  the  appearance  of  the 
picture  of  an  absent  friend,  our  idea  of  him  is  evidently 
enlivened  by  the  resemblance,  and  that  every  passion, 
which  that  idea  occasions,  whether  of  joy  or  sorrow, 
acquires  new  force  and  vigor.  In  producing  this  effect 
there  concur  both  a  relation  and  a  present  impression. 
Where  the  picture  bears  him  no  resemblance,  or  at  least 
was  not  intended  for  him,  it  never  so  much  as  conveys 
our  thought  to  him :  and  where  it  is  absent  as  well  as 
the  person  ;  though  the  mind  may  pass  from  the  thought 
of  the  one  to  that  of  the  other ;  it  feels  its  idea  to  be 
rather  weakened  than  enlivened  by  that  transition.  We 
take  a  pleasure  in  viewing  the  picture  of  a  friend,  when 
it  is  set  before  us ;  but  when  it  is  removed,  rather  choose 


OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  133 

to  consider  him  directly,  than  by  reflection  in  an  image, 
which  is  equally  distant  and  obscure. 

The  ceremonies  of  the  Koman  Catholic  religion  may 
be  considered  as  experiments  of  the  same  nature.  The 
devotees  of  that  strange  superstition  usually  plead  in 
excuse  of  the  mummeries  with  which  they  are  upbraided, 
that  they  feel  the  good  effect  of  those  external  motions, 
and  postures,  and  actions,  in  enlivening  their  devotion, 
and  quickening  their  fervor,  which  otherwise  would 
decay  away,  if  directed  entirely  to  distant  and  immate- 
rial objects.  We  shadow  out  the  objects  of  our  faith, 
say  they,  in  sensible  types  and  images,  and  render  them 
more  present  to  us  by  the  immediate  presence  of  these 
types,  than  it  is  possible  for  us  to  do,  merely  by  an 
intellectual  view  and  contemplation.  Sensible  objects 
have  always  a  greater  influence  on  the  fancy  than  any 
other;  and  this  influence  they  readily  convey  to  those 
ideas  to  which  they  are  related,  and  which  they  resemble. 
I, shall  only  infer  from  these  practices,  and  this  reasoning, 
that  the  effect  of  resemblance  in  enlivening  the  idea  is 
very  common ;  and  as  in  every  case  a  resemblance  and 
a  present  impression  must  concur,  we  are  abundantly 
supplied  with  experiments  to  prove  the  reality  of  the 
foregoing  principle. 

We  may  add  force  to  these  experiments  by  others  of 
a  different  kind,  in  considering  the  effects  of  contiguity, 
as  well  as  of  resemblance.  It  is  certain  that  distance 
diminishes  the  force  of  every  idea ;  and  that,  upon  our 
approach  to  any  object,  though  it  does  not  discover  itself 
to  our  senses,  it  operates  upon  the  mind  with  an  influence 
that  imitates  an  immediate  impression.  The  thinking 
on  any  object  readily  transports  the  mind  to  what  is 
contiguous;  but  it  is  only  the  actual  presence  of  an 
object,  that  transports  it  with  a  superior  vivacity.  When 


134  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

I  am  a  few  miles  from  home,  whatever  relates  to  it 
touches  me  more  nearly  than  when  I  am  two  hundred 
leagues  distant ;  though  even  at  that  distance  the  reflect- 
ing on  any  thing  in  the  neighborhood  of  my  friends  and 
family  naturally  produces  an  idea  of  them.  But  as  in 
this  latter  case,  both  the  objects  of  the  mind  are  ideas ; 
notwithstanding  there  is  an  easy  transition  betwixt 
them ;  that  transition  alone  is  not  able  to  give  a  superior 
vivacity  to  any  of  the  ideas,  for  want  of  some  immediate 
impression* 

No  one  can  doubt  but  causation  has  the  same  influence 
as  the  other  two  relations  of  resemblance  and  contiguity. 
Superstitious  people  are  fond  of  the  relics  of  saints  and 
holy  men,  for  the  same  reason  that  they  seek  after 
types  and  images,  in  order  to  enliven  their  devotion,  and 
give  them  a  more  intimate  and  strong  conception  of 
those  exemplary  lives,  which  they  desire  to  imitate. 
Now,  it  is  evident  one  of  the  best  relics  a  devotee  could 
procure  would  be  the  handy-work  of  a  saint ;  and  if  his 
clothes  and  furniture  are  ever  to  be  considered  in  this 
light,  it  is  because  they  were  once  at  his  disposal,  and 
were  moved  and  affected  by  him ;  in  which  respect  they 
are  to  be  considered  as  imperfect  effects,  and  as  connected 
with  him  by  a  shorter  chain  of  consequences  than  any 

*  Naturane  nobis ,  inquit,  datum  dicam,  an  errore  quodam,  ut,  cum  ea  loca 
videamus,  in  quibus  memoria  dignos  viros  acceperimus  multum  esse  versatos, 
magis  moveamur,  quam  siquando  eorum  ipsorum  aut  facta  audiamus,  aut  scrip- 
turn  aliquod  legamus  ?  velut  ego  nunc  moveor.  Venit  enim  mihi  Platonis  in 
mentem:  quern  accipimus  primum  hie  disputare  solitum:  cujus  etiam  illi 
hortuli  propinqui  non  memoriam  solum  mihi  afferunt,  sed  ipsum  videntur  in 
conspectu  meo  hie  ponere.  Hie  Speusippus,  hie  Xenocrates,  hie  ejus  auditor 
Polemo ;  cujus  ipsa  ilia  sessio  fuit,  quam  videamus.  Equidem  etiam  curiam 
nostram,  hostiliam  dico,  non  hanc  novam,  quse  mihi  minor  esse  videtur  post- 
quam  est  major,  solebam  intuens  Scipionem,  Catonem,  Lselium,  nostrum  vero 
in  primis  avum  cogitare.  Tanta  vis  admonitionis  inest  in  locis  ;  ut  non  sine 
causa  ex  his  memoriae  ducta  sit  diciplina.  —  Cicero  de  Finibus,  lib.  5. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  135 

of  those,  from  which  we  learn  the  reality  of  his  existence. 
This  phenomenon  clearly  proves,  that  a  present  impres- 
sion with  a  relation  of  causation  may  enliven  any  idea, 
and  consequently  produce  belief  or  assent,  according  to 
the  precedent  definition  of  it. 

r^But  why  need  we  seek  for  other  arguments  to  prove, 
/that  a  present  impression  with  a  relation  or  transition  of 
the  fancy  may  enliven  any  idea,  when  this  very  instance 
of  our  reasonings  from  cause  and  effect  will  alone  suffice 
to  that  purpose  ?  It  is  certain  we  must  have  an  idea  of 
every  matter  of  fact  which  we  believe.  It  is  certain 
that  this  idea  arises  only  from  a  relation  to  a  present 
impression.  It  is  certain  that  the  belief  superadds 
nothing  to  the  idea,  but  only  changes  our  manner 
of  conceiving  it,  and  renders  it  more  strong  and 
lively.  The  present  conclusion  concerning  the  influ- 
ence of  relation  is  the  immediate  consequence  of 
all  these  steps ;  and  every  step  appears  to  me  sure 
and  infallible.  There  enters  nothing  into  this  opera- 
tion of  the  mind  but  a  present  impression,  a  lively 
idea,  and  a  relation  or  association  in  the  fancy  be- 
twixt the  impression  and  idea;  so  that  there  can  be 
no  suspicion  of  mistake."^ 

In  order  to  put  this  whole  affair  in  a  fuller  light,  let 
us  consider  it  as  a  question  in  natural  philosophy,  which 
we  must  determine  by  experience  and  observation.  I 
suppose  there  is  an  object  presented,  from  which  I  draw 
a  certain  conclusion,  and  form  to  myself  ideas,  which  I 
am  said  to  believe  or  assent  to.  Here  it  is  evident,  that 
however  that  object,  which  is  present  to  my  senses,  and 
that  other,  whose  existence  I  infer  by  reasoning,  may  be 
thought  to  influence  each  other  by  their  particular 
powers  or  qualities ;  yet  as  the  phenomenon  of  belief, 
which  we  at  present  examine,  is  merely  internal,  these 


/ 
136  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

powers  and  qualities  being  entirely  unknown,  can  have 
no  hand  in  producing  it.  It  is  the  present  impression 
which  is  to  be  considered  as  the  true  and  real  cause  of 
the  idea,  and  of  the  belief  which  attends  it.  We  must 
therefore  endeavor  to  discover,  by  experiments,  the 
particular  qualities  by  which  it  is  enabled  to  produce  so 
extraordinary  an  effect. 

First  then  I  observe,  that  the  present  impression  has 
not  this  effect  by  its  own  proper  power  and  efficacy, 
and,  when  considered  alone  as  a  single  perception, 
limited  to  the  present  moment.  I  find  that  an  impres- 
sion, from  which,  on  its  first  appearance,  I  can  draw  no 
conclusion,  may  afterwards  become  the  foundation  of 
belief,  when  I  have  had  experience  of  its  usual  conse- 
quences. We  must  in  every  case  have  observed  the 
same  impression  in  past  instances,  and  have  found  it  to 
be  constantly  conjoined  with  some  other  impression. 
This  is  confirmed  by  such  a  multitude  of  experiments, 
that  it  admits  not  of  the  smallest  doubt. 

From  a  second  observation  I  conclude,  that  the  belief 
which  attends  the  present  impression,  and  is  produced 
by  a  number  of  past  impressions  and  conjunctions; 
that  this  belief,  I  say,  arises  immediately,  without  any 
new  operation  of  the  reason  or  imagination.  Of  this 
I  can  be  certain,  because  I  never  am  conscious  of  any 
such  operation,  and  find  nothing  in  the  subject  on 
which  it  can  be  founded.  Now,  as  we  call  every  thing 
custom  which  proceeds  from  a  past  repetition,  without 
any  new  reasoning  or  conclusion,  we  may  establish 
it  as  a  certain  truth,  that  all  the  belief,  which  follows 
upon  any  present  impression,  is  derived  solely  from 
that  origin.  When  we  are  accustomed  to  see  two 
impressions  conjoined  together,  the  appearance  or  idea 
of  the  one  immediately  carries  us  to  the  idea  of  the 
other. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  137 

Being  fully  satisfied  on  this  head,  I  make  a  third 
set  of  experiments,  in  order  to  know  whether  any 
thing  be  requisite,  beside  the  customary  transition, 
towards  the  production  of  this  phenomenon  of  belief. 
I  therefore  change  the  first  impression  into  an  idea ;  and 
observe,  that  though  the  customary  transition  to  the 
correlative  idea  still  remains,  yet  there  is  in  reality  no 
belief  nor  persuasion.  A  present  impression,  then,  is 
absolutely  requisite  to  this  whole  operation ;  and  when 
after  this  I  compare  an  impression  with  an  idea,  and  find 
that  their  only  difference  consists  in  their  different 
degrees  of  force  and  vivacity,  I  conclude  upon  the  whole, 
that  belief  is  a  more  vivid  and  intense  conception  of  an 
idea,  proceeding  from  its  relation  to  a  present  impression. 

Thus,  all  probable  reasoning  is  nothing  but  a  species 
of  sensation.  It  is  not  solely  in  poetry  and  music  we 
must  follow  our  taste  and  sentiment,  but  likewise  in 
philosophy.  When  I  am  convinced  of  any  principle,  it 
is  only  an  idea  which  strikes  more  strongly  upon  me. 
When  I  give  the  preference  to  one  set  of  arguments 
above  another,  I  do  nothing  but  decide  from  my  feeling 
concerning  the  superiority  of  their  influence.  Objects 
have  no  discoverable  connection  together ;  nor  is  it  from 
any  other  principle  but  custom  operating  upon  the 
imagination,  that  we  can  draw  any  inference  from  the 
appearance  of  one  to  the  existence  of  another. 

It  will  here  be  worth  our  observation,  that  the  past 
experience,  on  which  all  our  judgments  concerning 
cause  and  effect  depend,  may  operate  on  our  mind  in 
such  an  insensible  manner  as  never  to  be  taken  notice 
of,  and  may  even  in  some  measure  be  unknown  to  us. 
A  person,  who  stops  short  in  his  journey  upon  meeting 
a  river  in  his  way,  foresees  the  consequences  of  his 
proceeding  forward ;  and  his  knowledge  of  these  conse- 

vol.  i.  12 


138  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

quences  is  conveyed  to  him  by  past  experience,  which 
informs  him  of  such  certain  conjunctions  of  causes  and 
effects.  But  can  we  think,  that  on  this  occasion  he 
reflects  on  any  past  experience,  and  calls  to  remembrance 
instances  that  he  has  seen  or  heard  of,  in  order  to 
discover  the  effects  of  water  on  animal  bodies  ?  No, 
surely ;  this  is  not  the  method,  in  which  he  proceeds  in 
his  reasoning.  The  idea  of  sinking  is  so  closely  con- 
nected with  that  of  water,  and  the  idea  of  suffocating 
with  that  of  sinking,  that  the  mind  makes  the  transition 

,  without  the  assistance  of  the  memory.  The  custom 
operates  before  we  have  time  for  reflection.  The  objects  J  J 
seem  so  inseparable,  that  we  interpose  not  a  moment's 
delay  in  passing  from  the  one  or  the  other.  But  as  this 
transition  proceeds  fro^m  experience,  and  not  from  any 
primary  connection  betwixt  the  ideas,  we  must  necessa- 
rily acknowledge,  that  experience  may  produce  a  belief 
and  a  judgment  of  causes  and  effects  by  a  separate 
operation,  and  without  being  once  thought  of.  This 
removes  all  pretext,  if  there  yet  remains  any,  for 
asserting  that  the  mind  is  convinced  by  reasoning  of  \\ 

|i  that  principle,  that  instances  of  which  we  have  no  experience, 
must  necessarily  resemble  those  of  which  ive  have.  For  we 
here  find,  that  the  understanding  or  imagination  can 
draw  inferences  from  past  experience,  without  reflecting 
on  it ;  much  more  without  forming  any  principle  con- 
cerning it,  or  reasoning  upon  that  principle. 

In  general  we  may  observe,  that  in  all  the  most  estab- 
lished and  uniform  conjunctions  of  causes  and  effects, 
such  as  those  of  gravity,  impulse,  solidity,  etc.,  the  mind 
never  carries  its  view  expressly  to  consider  any  past 
experience :  though  in  other  associations  of  objects, 
which  are  more  rare  and  unusual,  it  may  assist  the  cus- 
tom and  transition  of  ideas  by  this  reflection.     Nay,  we 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  139 

find  in  some  cases,  that  the  reflection  produces  the  belief 
without  the  custom ;  or,  more  properly  speaking,  that 
the  reflection  produces  the  custom  in  an  oblique  and  arti- 
ficial manner.  I  explain  myself.  It  is  certain,  that  not 
only  in  philosophy,  but  even  in  common  life,  we  may 
attain  the  knowledge  of  a  particular  cause  merely  by 
one  experiment,  provided  it  be  made  with  judgment, 
and  after  a  careful  removal  of  all  foreign  and  super- 
fluous circumstances.  Now,  as  after  one  experiment  of 
this  kind,  the  mind,  upon  the  appearance  either  of  the 
cause  or  the  effect,  can  draw  an  inference  concerning 
the  existence  of  its  correlative,  and  as  a  habit  can  never 
be  acquired  merely  by  one  instance,  it  may  be  thought 
that  belief  cannot  in  this  case  be  esteemed  the  effect  of 
custom.  But  this  difficulty  will  vanish,  if  we  consider, 
that,  though  we  are  here  supposed  to  have  had  only  one 
experiment  of  a  particular  effect,  yet  we  have  many  mil- 
lions to  convince  us  of  this  principle,  that  like  objects, 
placed  in  like  circumstances,  ivill  ahvays  produce  like  effects  ; 
and  as  this  principle  has  established  itself  by  a  sufficient 
custom,  it  bestows  an  evidence  and  firmness  on  any 
opinion  to  which  it  can  be  applied.  The  connection  of 
the  ideas  is  not  habitual  after  one  experiment ;  but  this 
connection  is  comprehended  under  another  principle  that 
is  habitual ;  which  brings  us  back  to  our  hypothesis.  In 
all  cases  we  transfer  our  experience  to  instances  of 
which  we  have  no  experience,  either  expressly  or  tacitly, 
either  directly  or  indirectly. 

I  must  not  conclude  this  subject  without  observing, 
that  it  is  very  difficult  to  talk  of  the  operations  of  the 
mind  with  perfect  propriety  and  exactness;  because 
common  language  has  seldom  made  any  very  nice  dis- 
tinctions among  them,  but  has  generally  called  by  the 
same  term  all  such  as  nearly  resemble  each  other.    And 


140  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

as  this  is  a  source  almost  inevitable  of  obscurity  and 
confusion  in  the  author,  so  it  may  frequently  give  rise 
to  doubts  and  objections  in  the  reader,  which  otherwise 
he  would  never  have  dreamed  of.  Thus,  my  general 
position,  that  an  opinion  or  belief  is  nothing  bat  a  strong 
mid  lively  idea  derived  from  a  present  impression  related  to  it, 
may  be  liable  to  the  following  objection,  by  reason  of  a 
little  ambiguity  in  those  words  strong  and  lively.  It  may 
be  said,  that  not  only  an  impression  may  give  rise  to 
reasoning,  but  that  an  idea  may  also  have  the  same  in- 
fluence ;  especially  upon  my  principle,  that  all  onr  ideas 
are  derived  from  correspondent  impressions.  For,  suppose  I 
form  at  present  an  idea,  of  which  I  have  forgot  the  cor- 
respondent impression,  I  am  able  to  conclude,  from  this 
idea,  that  such  an  impression  did  once  exist ;  and  as  this 
conclusion  is  attended  with  belief,  it  may  be  asked,  from 
whence  are  the  qualities  of  force  and  vivacity  derived 
which  constitute  this  belief?  And  to  this  I  answer  very 
readily,  from  the  present  idea.  For  as  this  idea  is  not  here 
considered  as  the  representation  of  any  absent  object, 
but  as  a  real  perception  in  the  mind,  of  which  we  are 
intimately  conscious,  it  must  be  able  to  bestow,  on  what- 
ever is  related  to  it,  the  same  quality,  call  it  frmness,  or 
solidity,  or  force,  or  vivacity,  with  which  the  mind  reflects 
upon  it,  and  is  assured  of  its  present  existence.  The 
idea  here  supplies  the  place  of  an  impression,  and  is 
entirely  the  same,  so  far  as  regards  our  present  pur- 
pose. 

Upon  the  same  principles  we  need  not  be  surprised  to 
hear  of  the  remembrance  of  an  idea ;  that  is,  of  the  idea 
of  an  idea,  and  of  its  force  and  vivacity  superior  to  the 
loose  conceptions  of  the  imagination.  In  thinking  of 
our  past  thoughts  we  not  only  delineate  out  the  objects 
of  which  we  were  thinking,  but  also  conceive  the  action 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  141 

of  the  mind  in  the  meditation,  that  certain  je-ne-scai-qiioi, 
of  which  it  is  impossible  to  give  any  definition  or  de- 
scription, but  which  every  one  sufficiently  understands. 
When  the  memory  offers  an  idea  of  this,  and  represents 
it  as  past,  it  is  easily  conceived  how  that  idea  may  have 
more  vigor  and  firmness  than  when  we  think  of  a  past 
thought  of  which  we  have  no  remembrance. 

After  this,  any  one  will  understand  how  we  may  form 
the  idea  of  an  impression  and  of  an  idea,  and  how  we 
may  believe  the  existence  of  an  impression  and  of  an 
idea. 


SECTION  IX. 

OF   THE    EFFECTS    OF    OTHER   RELATIONS    AND    OTHER   HABITS. 

However  convincing  the  foregoing  arguments  may 
appear,  we  must  not  rest  contented  with  them,  but 
must  turn  the  subject  on  every  side,  in  order  to  find 
some  new  points  of  view,  from  which  we  may  illustrate 
and  confirm  such  extraordinary  and  such  fundamental 
principles.  A  scrupulous  hesitation  to  receive  any  new 
hypothesis  is  so  laudable  a  disposition  in  philosophers, 
and  so  necessary  to  the  examination  of  truth,  that  it 
deserves  to  be  complied  with,  and  requires  that  every 
argument  be  produced  which  may  tend  to  their  satis- 
faction, and  every  objection  removed  which  may  stop 
them  in  their  reasoning. 

I  have  often  observed,  that,  beside  cause  and  effect, 
the  two  relations  of  resemblance  and  contiguity  are  to 
be  considered  as  associating  principles  of  thought,  and 
as  capable  of  conveying  the  imagination  from  one  idea 
to  another.     I  have  also  observed,  that  when  of  two 

12* 


142  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

objects,  connected  together  by  any  of  these  relations, 
one  is  immediately  present  to  the  memory  or  senses,  not 
only  the  mind  is  conveyed  to  its  co-relative  by  means  of 
the  associating  principle,  but  likewise  conceives  it  with 
an  additional  force  and  vigor,  by  the  united  operation  of 
that  principle,  and  of  the  present  impression.  All  this 
I  have  observed,  in  order  to  confirm,  by  analogy,  my 
explication  of  our  judgments  concerning  cause  and 
effect.  But  this  very  argument  may  perhaps  be  turned 
against  me,  and  instead  of  a  confirmation  of  my  hypothe- 
sis, may  become  an  objection  to  it.  For  it  may  be  said, 
that,  if  all  the  parts  of  that  hypothesis  be  true,  viz.  that 
these  three  species  of  relation  are  derived  from  the  same 
principles ;  that  their  effects,  in  enforcing  and  enlivening 
our  ideas,  are  the  same ;  and  that  belief  is  nothing  but  a 
more  forcible  and  vivid  conception  of  an  idea ;  it  should 
follow,  that  that  action  of  the  mind  may  not  only  be 
derived  from  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect,  but  also 
from  those  of  contiguity  and  resemblance.  But  as  we 
find  by  experience  that  belief  arises  only  from  causation, 
and  that  we  can  draw  no  inference  from  one  object  to 
another,  except  they  be  connected  by  this  relation,  we 
may  conclude,  that  there  is  some  error  in  that  reasoning 
which  leads  us  into  such  difficulties. 

This  is  the  objection  :  let  us  now  consider  its  solution. 
It  is  evident,  that  whatever  is  present  to  the  memory, 
striking  upon  the  mind  with  a  vivacity  which  resembles 
an  immediate  impression,  must  become  of  considerable 
moment  in  all  the  operations  of  the  mind,  and  must 
easily  distinguish  itself  above  the  mere  fictions  of  the 
imagination.  Of  these  impressions  or  ideas  of  the 
memory  we  form  a  kind  of  system,  comprehending  what- 
ever we  remember  to  have  been  present,  either  to  our 
internal  perception  or  senses;  and  every  particular  of 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  14 

that  system,  joined  to  the  present  impressions,  we  are 
pleased  to  call  a  reality.  But  the  mind  stops  not  here. 
For  finding,  that  with  this  system  of  perceptions  there  is 
another  connected  by  custom,  or,  if  you  will,  by  the 
relation  of  cause  or  effect,  it  proceeds  to  the  considera- 
tion of  their  ideas  ;  and  as  it  feels  that  it  is  in  a  manner 
necessarily  determined  to  view  these  particular  ideas, 
and  that  the  custom  or  relation,  by  which  it  is  deter- 
mined, admits  not  of  the  least  change,  it  forms  them  into 
a  new  system,  which  it  likewise  dignifies  with  the  title 
of  realities.  The  first  of  these  systems  is  the  object  of 
the  memory  and  senses ;  the  second  of  the  judgment. 

It  is  this  latter  principle  which  peoples  the  world,  and 
brings  us  acquainted  with  such  existences  as,  by  their 
removal  in  time  and  place,  lie  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
senses  and  memory.  By  means  of  it  I  paint  the 
universe  in  my  imagination,  and  fix  my  attention  on 
any  part  of  it  I  please.  I  form  an  idea  of  Rome,  which 
I  neither  see  nor  remember,  but  which  is  connected  with 
such  impressions  as  I  remember  to  have  received  from 
the  conversation  and  books  of  travellers  and  historians. 
This  idea  of  Rome  I  placed  in  a  certain  situation  on  the 
idea  of  an  object  which  I  call  the  globe.  I  join  to  it  the 
conception  of  a  particular  government,  and  religion,  and 
manners.  I  look  backward  and  consider  its  first  founda- 
tion, its  several  revolutions,  successes,  and  misfortunes. 
All  this,  and  every  thing  else  which  I  believe,  are  noth- 
ing but  ideas,  though,  by  their  force  and  settled  order, 
arising  from  custom  and  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect, 
they  distinguish  themselves  from  the  other  ideas,  which 
are  merely  the  offspring  of  the  imagination. 

As  to  the  influence  of  contiguity  and  resemblance,  we 
may  observe,  that  if  the  contiguous  and  resembling 
object   be   comprehended   in   this    system   of  realities, 


144  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

there  is  no  doubt  but  these  two  relations  will  assist  that 
of  cause  and  effect,  and  infix  the  related  idea  with  more 
force  in  the  imagination.  This  I  shall  enlarge  upon 
presently.  Meanwhile  I  shall  carry  my  observation  a 
step  further,  and  assert,  that  even  where  the  related 
object  is  but  feigned,  the  relation  will  serve  to  enliven 
the  idea,  and  increase  its  influence.  A  poet,  no  doubt, 
will  be  the  better  able  to  form  a  strong  description  of  the 
Elysian  fields,  that  he  prompts  his  imagination  by  the 
view  of  a  beautiful  meadow  or  garden ;  as  at  another 
time  he  may,  by  his  fancy,  place  himself  in  the  midst  of 
these  fabulous  regions,  that  by  the  feigned  contiguity 
he  may  enliven  his  imagination. 

But  though  I  cannot  altogether  exclude  the  relations 
of  resemblance  and  contiguity  from  operating  on  the 
fancy  in  this  manner,  it  is  observable  that,  when  single, 
their  influence  is  very  feeble  and  uncertain.  As  the 
relation  of  cause  and  effect  is  requisite  to  persuade  us 
of  any  real  existence,  so  is  this  persuasion  requisite  to 
give  force  to  these  other  relations.  For  where  upon 
the  appearance  of  an  impression  we  not  only  feign 
another  object,  but  likewise  arbitrarily,  and  of  our  mere 
good-will  and  pleasure  give  it  a  particular  relation  to 
the  impression,  this  can  have  but  a  small  effect  upon 
the  mind ;  nor  is  there  any  reason,  why,  upon  the  re- 
turn of  the  same  impression,  we  should  be  determined 
to  place  the  same  object  in  the  same  relation  to  it. 
There  is  no  manner  of  necessity  for  the  mind  to  feign 
any  resembling  and  contiguous  objects ;  and  if  it  feigns 
such,  there  is  as  little  necessity  for  it  always  to  confine 
itself  to  the  same,  without  any  difference  or  variation. 
And  indeed  such  a  fiction  is  founded  on  so  little  rea- 
son, that  nothing  but  pure  caprice  can  determine  the 
mind  to  form  it;  and  that  principle  being  fluctuating 


OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  145 

and  uncertain,  it  is  impossible  it  can  ever  operate  with 
any  considerable  degree  of  force  and  constancy.  The 
mind  foresees  and  anticipates  the  change  \  and  even 
from  the  very  first  instant  feels  the  looseness  of  its 
actions,  and  the  weak  hold  it  has  of  its  objects.  And 
as  this  imperfection  is  very  sensible  in  every  single  in- 
stance, it  still  increases  by  experience  and  observation, 
when  we  compare  the  several  instances  we  may  remem- 
ber, and  form  a  general  rule  against  the  reposing  any 
assurance  in  those  momentary  glimpses  of  light,  which 
arise  in  the  imagination  from  a  feigned  resemblance  and 
contiguity. 

The  relation  of  cause  and  effect  has  all  the  opposite 
advantages.  The  objects  it  presents  are  fixed  and  un- 
alterable. The  impressions  of  the  memory  never  change 
in  any  considerable  degree ;  and  each  impression  draws 
along  with  it  a  precise  idea,  which  takes  its  place  in  the 
imagination,  as  something  solid  and  real,  certain  and 
invariable.  The  thought  is  always  determined  to  pass 
from  the  impression  to  the  idea,  and  from  that  particu- 
lar impression  to  that  particular  idea,  without  any  choice 
or  hesitation. 

But  not  content  with  removing  this  objection,  I  shall 
endeavor  to  extract  from  it  a  proof  of  the  present  doc- 
trine. Contiguity  and  resemblance  have  an  effect  much 
inferior  to  causation ;  but  still  have  some  effect,  and 
augment  the  conviction  of  any  opinion,  and  the  vivacity 
of  any  conception.  If  this  can  be  proved  in  several 
new  instances,  beside' what  we  have  already  observed, 
it  will  be  allowed  no  inconsiderable  argument,  that 
belief  is  nothing  but  a  lively  idea  related  to  a  present 
impression. 

To  begin  with  contiguity;  it  has  been  remarked 
among  the  Mahometans  as  well  as  Christians,  that  those 


146  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

pilgrims,  who  have  seen  Mecca  or  the  Holy  Land  are 
ever  after  more  faithful  and  zealous  believers,  than  those 
who  have  not  had  that  advantage.  A  man,  whose 
memory  presents  him  with  a  lively  image  of  the  Red  Sea, 
and  the  Desert,  and  Jerusalem,  and  Galilee,  can  never 
doubt  of  any  miraculous  events,  which  are  related  either 
by  Moses  or  the  Evangelists.  The  lively  idea  of  the 
places  passes  by  an  easy  transition  to  the  facts,  which 
are  supposed  to  have  been  related  to  them  by  conti- 
guity, and  increases  the  belief  by  increasing  the  vivacity 
of  the  conception.  The  remembrance  of  these  fields 
and  rivers  has  the  same  influence  on  the  vulgar  as  a 
new  argument,  and  from  the  same  causes. 

We  may  form  a  like  observation  concerning  resem- 
blance. We  have  remarked,  that  the  conclusion  which 
wTe  draw  from  a  present  object  to  its  absent  cause  or  ef- 
fect, is  never  founded  on  any  qualities  which  we  observe 
in  that  object,  considered  in  itself;  or,  in  other  words,  that 
it  is  impossible  to  determine  otherwise  than  by  experi- 
ence," what  will  result  from  any  phenomenon,  or  what 
has  preceded  it.  But  though  this  be  so  evident  in  itself, 
that  it  seemed  not  to  require  any  proof,  yet  some 
philosophers  have  imagined  that  there  is  an  apparent 
cause  for  the  communication  of  motion,  and  that  a 
reasonable  man  might  immediately  infer  the  motion 
of  one  body  from  the  impulse  of  another,  without  hav- 
ing recourse  to  any  past  observation.  That  this  opin- 
ion is  false  will  admit  of  an  easy  proof.  For  if  such 
an  inference  may  be  drawn  merely  from  the  ideas  of 
body,  of  motion,  and  of  impulse,  it  must  amount  to  a 
demonstration,  and  must  imply  the  absolute  impossi- 
bility of  any  contrary  supposition.  Every  effect,  then, 
beside  the  communication  of  motion,  implies  a  formal 
contradiction ;  and  it  is  impossible  not  only  that  it  can 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  147 

exist,  but  also  that  it  can  be  conceived.  But  we  may 
soon  satisfy  ourselves  of  the  contrary,  by  forming  a 
clear  and  consistent  idea  of  one  body's  moving  upon 
another,  and  of  its  rest  immediately  upon  the  contact ; 
or  of  its  returning  back  in  the  same  line  in  which  it 
came;  or  of  its  annihilation,  or  circular  or  elliptical 
motion;  and  in  short,  of  an  infinite  number  of  other 
changes,  which  they  may  suppose  it  to  undergo.  These 
suppositions  are  all  consistent  and  natural;  and  the 
reason  why  we  imagine  the  communication  of  motion 
to  be  more  consistent  and  natural,  not  only  than  those 
suppositions,  but  also  than  any  other  natural  effect,  is 
founded  on  the  relation  of  resemblance  betwixt  the 
cause  and  effect,  which  is  here  united  to  experience, 
and  binds  the  objects  in  the  closest  and  most  intimate 
manner  to  each  other,  so  as  to  make  us  imagine  them 
to  be  absolutely  inseparable.  Resemblance,  then,  has 
the  same  or  a  parallel  influence  with  experience ;  and 
as  the  only  immediate  effect  of  experience  is  to  asso- 
ciate our  ideas  together,  it  follows  that  all  belief  arises 
from  the  association  of  ideas,  according  to  my  hypo- 
thesis. 

It  is  universally  allowed  by  the  writers  on  optics,  that 
the  eye  at  all  times  sees  an  equal  number  of  physical 
points,  acd  that  a  man  on  the  top  of  a  mountain  has  no 
larger  an  image  presented  to  his  senses,  than  when  he 
is  cooped  up  in  the  narrowest  court  or  chamber.  It  is 
only  by  experience  that  he  infers  the  greatness  of  the 
object  from  some  peculiar  qualities  of  the  image ;  and 
this  inference  of  the  judgment  he  confounds  with  sensa- 
tion, as  is  common  on  other  occasions.  Now  it  is  evi- 
dent, that  the  inference  of  the  judgment  is  here  much 
more  lively  than  what  is  usual  in  our  common  reason- 
ings, and  that  a  man  has  a  more  vivid  conception  of 


148  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

the  vast  extent  of  the  ocean  from  the  image  he  receives 
by  the  eye,  when  he  stands  on  the  top  of  the  high 
promontory,  than  merely  from  hearing  the  roaring  of 
the  waters.  He  feels  a  more  sensible  pleasure  from  its 
magnificence,  which  is  a  proof  of  a  more  lively  idea ; 
and  he  confounds  his  judgment  with  sensation,  wThich 
is  another  proof  of  it.  But  as  the  inference  is  equally 
certain  and  immediate  in  both  cases,  this  superior 
vivacity  of  our  conception  in  one  case  can  proceed 
from  nothing  but  this,  that  in  drawing  an  inference 
from  the  sight,  beside  the  customary  conjunction,  there 
is  also  a  resemblance  betwixt  the  image  and  the  object 
we  infer,  which  strengthens  the  relation,  and  conveys 
the  vivacity  of  the  impression  to  the  related  idea  with 
an  easier  and  more  natural  movement. 

No  weakness  of  human  nature  is  more  universal  and 
conspicuous  than  what  we  commonly  call  credulity,  or 
a  too  easy  faith  in  the  testimony  of  others ;  and  this 
weakness  is  also  very  naturally  accounted  for  from  the 
influence  of  resemblance.  When  we  receive  any  mat- 
ter of  fact  upon  human  testimony,  our  faith  arises  from 
the  very  same  origin  as  our  inferences  from  causes  to 
effects,  and  from  effects  to  causes;  nor  is  there  any 
thing  but  our  experience  of  the  governing  principles  of 
human  nature,  which  can  give  us  any  assurance  of  the 
veracity  of  men.  But  though  experience  be  the  true 
standard  of  this,  as  well  as  of  all  other  judgments,  we 
seldom  regulate  ourselves  entirely  by  it,  but  have  a 
remarkable  propensity  to  believe  whatever  is  reported, 
even  concerning  apparitions,  enchantments,  and  pro- 
digies, however  contrary  to  daily  experience  and  ob- 
servation. The  words  or  discourses  of  others  have  an 
intimate  connection  with  certain  ideas  in  their  mind; 
and  these  ideas  have  also  a  connection  with  the  facts 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  149 

or  objects  which  they  represent.  This  latter  connection 
is  generally  much  overrated,  and  commands  our  assent 
beyond  what  experience  will  justify,  which  can  proceed 
from  nothing  beside  the  resemblance  betwixt  the  ideas 
and  the  facts.  Other  effects  only  point  out  their  causes 
in  an  oblique  manner ;  but  the  testimony  of  men  does 
it  directly,  and  is  to  be  considered  as  an  image  as  well 
as  an  effect.  No  wonder,  therefore,  we  are  so  rash  in 
drawing  our  inferences  from  it,  and  are  less  guided  by 
experience  in  our  judgments  concerning  it,  than  in 
those  upon  any  other  subject. 

As  resemblance,  when  conjoined  with  causation,  forti- 
fies our  reasonings,  so  the  want  of  it  in  any  very  great 
degree  is  able  almost  entirely  to  destroy  them.  Of  this 
there  is  a  remarkable  instance  in  the  universal  careless- 
ness and  stupidity  of  men  with  regard  to  a  future  state, 
where  they  show  as  obstinate  an  incredulity,  as  they  do 
a  blind  credulity  on  other  occasions.  There  is  not  in- 
deed a  more  ample  matter  of  wonder  to  the  studious, 
and  of  regret  to  the  pious  man,  than  to  observe  the 
negligence  of  the  bulk  of  mankind  concerning  their 
approaching  condition  ;  and  it  is  with  reason,  that  many 
eminent  theologians  have  not  scrupled  to  affirm,  that 
though  the  vulgar  have  no  formal  principles  of  infidelity, 
yet  they  are  really  infidels  in  their  hearts,  and  have 
nothing  like  what  we  can  call  a  belief  of  the  eternal 
duration  of  their  souls.  For  let  us  consider  on  the  one 
hand  what  divines  have  displayed  with  such  eloquence 
concerning  the  importance  of  eternity ;  and  at  the  same 
time  reflect,  that  though  in  matters  of  rhetoric  we  ought 
to  lay  our  account  with  some  exaggeration,  we  must  in 
this  case  allow,  that  the  strongest  figures  are  infinitely 
inferior  to  the  subject :  and  after  this,  let  us  view  on  the 
other  hand  the  prodigious  security  of  men  in  this  par- 

vol.  i.  13 


150  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

ticular:  I  ask,  if  these  people  really  believe  what  is 
inculcated  on  them,  and  what  they  pretend  to  affirm ; 
and  the  answer  is  obviously  in  the  negative.  As  belief 
is  an  act  of  the  mind  arising  from  custom,  it  is  not 
strange  the  want  of  resemblance  should  overthrow  what 
custom  has  established,  and  diminish  the  force  of  the 
idea,  as  much  as  that  latter  principle  increases  it.  A 
future  state  is  so  far  removed  from  our  comprehension, 
and  we  have  so  obscure  an  idea  of  the  manner  in  which 
we  shall  exist  after  the  dissolution  of  the  body,  that  all 
the  reasons  we  can  invent,  however  strong  in  them- 
selves, and  however  much  assisted  by  education,  are 
never  able  with  slow  imaginations  to  surmount  this 
difficulty,  or  bestow  a  sufficient  authority  and  force  on 
the  idea.  I  rather  choose  to  ascribe  this  incredulity  to 
the  faint  idea  we  form  of  our  future  condition,  derived 
from  its  want  of  resemblance  to  the  present  life,  than 
to  that  derived  from  its  remoteness.  For  I  observe, 
that  men  are  everywhere  concerned  about  what  may 
happen  after  their  death,  provided  it  regard  this  world  ; 
and  that  there  are  few  to  whom  their  name,  their  fam- 
ily, their  friends,  and  their  country  are  in  any  period  of 
time  entirely  indifferent. 

And  indeed  the  want  of  resemblance  in  this  case  so 
entirely  destroys  belief,  that  except  those  few  who, 
upon  cool  reflection  on  the  importance  of  the  subject, 
have  taken  care  by  repeated  meditation  to  imprint  in 
their  minds  the  arguments  for  a  future  state,  there 
scarce  are  any  who  believe  the  immortality  of  the  soul 
with  a  true  and  established  judgment;  such  as  is  de- 
rived from  the  testimony  of  travellers  and  historians. 
This  appears  very  conspicuously  wherever  men  have 
occasion  to  cqmpare  the  pleasures  and  pains,  the  re- 
wards and  punishments  of  this  life   with   those   of  a 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  151 

future ;  even  though  the  case  does  not  concern  them- 
selves, and  there  is  no  violent  passion  to  disturb  their 
judgment.  The  Roman  Catholics  are  certainly  the  most 
zealous  of  any  sect  in  the  Christian  world  ;  and  yet 
you  will  find  few  among  the  more  sensible  part  of  that 
communion  who  do  not  blame  the  Gunpowder  Treason, 
and  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  as  cruel  and  bar- 
barous, though  projected  or  executed  against  those  very 
people,  whom  without  any  scruple  they  condemn  to 
eternal  and  infinite  punishments.  All  we  can  say  in 
excuse  for  this  inconsistency  is,  that  they  really  do  not 
believe  what  they  affirm  concerning  a  future  state  ;  nor 
is  there  any  better  proof  of  it  than  the  very  incon- 
sistency. 

We  may  add  to  this  a  remark,  that  in  matters  of 
religion  men  take  a  pleasure  in  being  terrified,  and  that 
no  preachers  are  so  popular  as  those  who  excite  the 
most  dismal  and  gloomy  passions.  In  the  common 
affairs  of  life,  where  we  feel  and  are  penetrated  with  the 
solidity  of  the  subject,  nothing  can  be  more  disagreeable 
than  fear  and  terror ;  and  it  is  only  in  dramatic  perform- 
ances and  in  religious  discourses  that  they  ever  give 
pleasure.  In  these  latter  cases  the  imagination  reposes 
itself  indolently  on  the  idea;  and  the  passion  being 
softened  by  the  want  of  belief  in  the  subject,  has  no 
more  than  the  agreeable  effect  of  enlivening  the  mind 
and  fixing  the  attention. 

The  present  hypothesis  will  receive  additional  con- 
firmation, if  we  examine  the  effects  of  other  kinds  of 
custom,  as  well  as  of  other  relations.  To  understand 
this,  we  must  consider  that  custom,  to  which  I  attribute 
all  belief  and  reasoning,  may  operate  upon  the  mind  in 
invigorating  an  idea  after  two  several  ways.  For  sup- 
posing that,  in  all  past  experience,  we  have  found  two 


152  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

objects  to  have  been  always  conjoined  together,  it  is 
evident,  that  upon  the  appearance  of  one  of  these 
objects  in  an  impression,  we  must,  from  custom,  make 
an  easy  transition  to  the  idea  of  that  object,  which  usu- 
ally attends  it ;  and  by  means  of  the  present  impres- 
sion and  easy  transition  must  conceive  that  idea  in  a 
stronger  and  more  lively  manner  than  we  do  any  loose 
floating  image  of  the  fancy.  But  let  us  next  suppose, 
that  a  mere  idea  alone,  without  any  of  this  curious  and 
almost  artificial  preparation,  should  frequently  make  its 
appearance  in  the  mind,  this  idea  must,  by  degrees, 
acquire  a  facility  and  force ;  and  both  by  its  firm  hold 
and  easy  introduction  distinguish  itself  from  any  new 
and  unusual  idea.  This  is  the  only  particular  in  which 
these  two  kinds  of  custom  agree ;  and  if  it  appear  that 
their  effects  on  the  judgment  are  similar  and  propor- 
tionable, we  may  certainly  conclude,  that  the  foregoing 
explication  of  that  faculty  is  satisfactory.  But  can  we 
doubt  of  this  agreement  in  their  influence  on  the  judg- 
ment, when  we  consider  the  nature  and  effects  of  edu- 
cation ? 

All  those  opinions  and  notions  of  things,  to  which  we 
have  been  accustomed  from  our  infancy,  take  such  deep 
root,  that  it  is  impossible  for  us,  by  all  the  powers  of 
reason  and  experience,  to  eradicate  them  ;  and  this 
habit  not  only  approaches  in  its  influence,  but  even  on 
many  occasions  prevails  over  that  which  arises  from  the 
constant  and  inseparable  union  of  causes  and  effects. 
Here  we  must  not  be  contented  with  saying,  that  the 
vividness  of  the  idea  produces  the  belief :  we  must 
maintain  that  they  are  individually  the  same.  The 
frequent  repetition  of  any  idea  infixes  it  in  the  imagi- 
nation ;  but  could  never  possibly  of  itself  produce  belief, 
if  that  act  of  the  mind  was,  by  the  original  constitution 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  153 

of  our  natures,  annexed  only  to  a  reasoning  and  com- 
parison of  ideas.  Custom  may  lead  us  into  some  false 
comparison  of  ideas :  This  is  the  utmost  effect  we  can 
conceive  of  it ;  but  it  is  certain  it  could  never  supply 
the  place  of  that  comparison,  nor  produce  any  act  of  the 
the  mind  which  natually  belonged  to  that  principle. 

A  person  that  has  lost  a  leg  or  an  arm  by  amputa- 
tion endeavors  for  a  long  time  afterwards  to  serve  him- 
self with  them.  After  the  death  of  any  one,  it  is  a 
common  remark  of  the  whole  family,  but  especially 
the  servants,  that  they  can  scarce  believe  him  to  be 
dead,  but  still  imagine  him  to  be  in  his  chamber  or  in 
any  other  place,  where  they  were  accustomed  to  find 
him.  I  have  often  heard  in  conversation,  after  talking 
of  a  person  that  is  any  way  celebrated,  that  one,  who 
has  no  acquaintance  with  him,  will  say,  /  have  never  seen 
such  a  one,  but  almost  fancy  I  have,  so  often  have  I  heard 
talk  of  him.     All  these  are  parallel  instances. 

If  we  consider  this  argument  from  education  in  a  pro- 
per light,  it  will  appear  very  convincing ;  and  the  more 
so,  that  it  is  founded  on  one  of  the  most  common  phe- 
nomena that  is  anywhere  to  be  met  with.  I  am  per- 
suaded that,  upon  examination,  we  shall  find  more  than 
one  half  of  those  opinions  that  prevail  among  mankind 
to  be  owing  to  education,  and  that  the  principles  which 
are  thus  implicitly  embraced,  overbalance  those,  which 
are  owing  either  to  abstract  reasoning  or  experience. 
As  liars,  by  the  frequent  repetition  of  their  lies,  come  at 
last  to  remember  them;  so  the  judgment,  or  rather  the 
imagination,  by  the  like  means,  may  have  ideas  so 
strongly  imprinted  on  it,  and  conceive  them  in  so  full 
a  light,  that  they  may  operate  upon  the  mind  in  the 
same  manner  with  those  which  the  senses,  memory,  or 
reason  present  to  us.     But  as  education  is  an  artificial 

13* 


154  OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

and  not  a  natural  cause,  and  as  its  maxims  are  fre- 
quently contrary  to  reason,  and  even  to  themselves  in 
different  times  and  places,  it  is  never  upon  that  account 
recognized  by  philosophers  ;  though  in  reality  it  be  built 
almost  on  the  same  foundation  of  custom  and  repetition 
as  our  reasonings  from  causes  and  effects* 


SECTION    X. 

OF    THE   INFLUENCE    OF    BELIEF. 

But  though  education  be  disclaimed  by  philosophy, 
as  a  fallacious  ground  of  assent  to  any  opinion,  it  pre- 
vails nevertheless  in  the  world,  and  is  the  cause  why  all 
systems  are  apt  to  be  rejected  at  first  as  new  and  unu- 
sual. This,  perhaps,  will  be  the  fate  of  what  I  have  here 
advanced  concerning  belief;  and  though  the  proofs  I 
have  produced  appear  to  me  perfectly  conclusive,  I 
expect  not  to  make  many  proselytes  to  my  opinion. 
Men  will  scarce  ever  be  persuaded,  that  effects  of  such 
consequence  can  flow  from  principles  which  are  seem- 
ingly so  inconsiderable,  and  that  the  far  greatest  part  of 
our  reasonings,  with  all  our  actions  and  passions,  can  be 

*  In  general  we  may  observe,  that  as  our  assent  to  all  probable  reasonings 
is  founded  on  the  vivacity  of  ideas,  it  resembles  many  of  those  whimsies  and 
prejudices  which  are  rejected  under  the  opprobrious  character  of  being  the 
offspring  of  the  imagination.  By  this  expression  it  appears,  that  the  word 
imagination,  is  commonly  used  in  two  different  senses ;  and  though  nothing 
be  more  contrary  to  true  philosophy  than  this  inaccuracy,  yet,  in  the  following 
reasonings,  I  have  often  been  obliged  to  fall  into  it.  When  I  oppose  the 
imagination  to  the  memory,  I  mean  the  faculty  by  which  we  form  our  fainter 
ideas.  When  I  oppose  it  to  reason,  I  mean  the  same  faculty,  excluding  only 
our  demonstrative  and  probable  reasonings.  When  I  oppose  it  to  neither,  it 
is  indifferent  whether  it  be  taken  in  the  larger  or  more  limited  sense,  or  at 
least  the  context  will  sufficiently  explain  the  meaning. 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  155 

derived  from  nothing  but  custom  and  habit.  To  obviate 
this  objection,  I  shall  here  anticipate  a  little  what  would 
more  properly  fall  under  our  consideration  afterwards, 
when  we  come  to  treat  of  the  Passions  and  the  Sense 
of  Beauty. 

There  is  implanted  in  the  human  mind  a  perception 
of  pain  and  pleasure  as  the  chief  spring  and  moving 
principle  of  all  its  actions.  But  pain  and  pleasure  have 
two  ways  of  making  their  appearance  in  the  mind ;  of 
which  the  one  has  effects  very  different  from  the  other. 
They  may  either  appear  an  impression  to  the  actual 
feeling,  or  only  in  idea,  as  at  present  when  I  mention 
them.  It  is  evident  the  influence  of  these  upon  our 
actions  is  far  from  being  equal.  Impressions  always 
actuate  the  soul,  and  that  in  the  highest  degree;  but 
it  is  not  every  idea  which  has  the  same  effect.  Nature 
has  proceeded  with  caution  in  this  case,  and  seems  to 
have  carefully  avoided  the  inconveniences  of  two  ex- 
tremes. Did  impressions  alone  influence  the  will,  we 
should  every  moment  of  our  lives  be  subject  to  the 
greatest  calamities;  because,  though  we  foresaw  their 
approach,  we  should  not  be  provided  by  nature  with 
any  principle  of  action,  which  might  impel  us  to  avoid 
them.  On  the  other  hand,  did  every  idea  influence 
our  actions,  our  condition  would  not  be  much  mended. 
For  such  is  the  unsteadiness  and  activity  of  thought, 
that  the  images  of  every  thing,  especially  of  goods  and 
evils,  are  always  wandering  in  the  mind ;  and  were  it 
moved  by  every  idle  conception  of  this  kind,  it  would 
never  enjoy  a  moment's  peace  and  tranquillity. 

Nature  has  therefore  chosen  a  medium,  and  has 
neither  bestowed  on  every  idea  of  good  and  evil  the 
power  of  actuating  the  will,  nor  yet  has  entirely 
excluded  them  from  this  influence.      Though  an  idle 


156  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

fiction  has  no  efficacy,  yet  we  find  by  experience,  that 
the  ideas  of  those  objects  which  we  believe  either  are  or 
will  be  existent,  produce  in  a  lesser  degree  the  same 
effect  with  those  impressions,  which  are  immediately 
present  to  the  senses  and  perception.  The  effect  then 
of  belief,  is  to  raise  up  a  simple  idea  to  an  equality  with 
our  impressions,  and  bestow  on  it  a  like  influence  on  the 
passions.  This  effect  it  can  only  have  by  making  an  idea 
approach  an  impression  in  force  and  vivacity.  For  as 
the  different  degrees  of  force  make  all  the  original  dif- 
ference betwixt  an  impression  and  an  idea,  they  must 
of  consequence  be  the  source  of  all  the  differences  in  the 
effects  of  these  perceptions,  and  their  removal,  in  whole 
or  in  part,  the  cause  of  every  new  resemblance  they 
acquire.  Wherever  we  can  make  an  idea  approach  the 
impressions  in  force  and  vivacity,  it  will  likewise  imitate 
them  in  its  influence  on  the  mind ;  and  vice  versa,  where 
it  imitates  them  in  that  influence,  as  in  the  present  case, 
this  must  proceed  from  its  approaching  them  in  force 
and  vivacity.  Belief,  therefore,  since  it  causes  an  idea 
to  imitate  the  effects  of  the  impressions,  must  make  it 
resemble  them  in  these  qualities,  and  is  nothing  but  a 
more  vivid  and  interne  conception  of  any  idea.  This  then 
may  both  serve  as  an  additional  argument  for  the  pres- 
ent system,  and  may  give  us  a  notion  after  what  manner 
our  reasonings  from  causation  are  able  to  operate  on 
the  will  and  passions. 

As  belief  is  almost  absolutely  requisite  to  the  exciting 
our  passions,  so  the  passions,  in  their  turn,  are  very  favor- 
able to  belief;  and  not  only  such  facts  as  convey  agree- 
able emotions,  but  very  often  such  as  give  pain,  do  upon 
that  account  become  more  readily  the  objects  of  faith 
and  opinion.  A  coward,  whose  fears  are  easily  awakened, 
readily  assents   to  every  account  of  danger  he  meets 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  157 

with ;  as  a  person  of  a  sorrowful  and  melancholy  dispo- 
sition is  very  credulous  of  every  thing  that  nourishes  his 
prevailing  passion.  When  any  affecting  object  is  pre- 
sented, it  gives  the  alarm,  and  excites  immediately 
a  degree  of  its  proper  passion ;  especially  in  persons 
who  are  naturally  inclined  to  that  passion.  This  emo- 
tion passes  by  an  easy  transition  to  the  imagination  ; 
and,  diffusing  itself  over  our  idea  of  the  affecting  object, 
makes  us  form  that  idea  with  greater  force  and  vivacity, 
and  consequently  assent  to  it,  according  to  the  precedent 
system.  Admiration  and  surprise  have  the  same  effect 
as  the  other  passions  ;  and  accordingly  we  may  observe, 
that  among  the  vulgar,  quacks  and  projectors  meet  with 
a  more  easy  faith  upon  account  of  their  magnificent 
pretensions,  than  if  they  kept  themselves  within  the 
bounds  of  moderation.  The  first  astonishment,  which 
naturally  attends  their  miraculous  relations,  spreads 
itself  over  the  whole  soul,  and  so  vivifies  and  enlivens 
the  idea,  that  it  resembles  the  inferences  we  draw  from 
experience.  This  is  a  mystery,  with  which  we  may  be 
already  a  little  acquainted,  and  which  we  shall  have 
further  occasion  to  be  let  into  in  the  progress  of  this 
Treatise. 

After  this  account  of  the  influence  of  belief  on  the 
passions,  we  shall  find  less  difficulty  in  explaining  its 
effects  on  the  imagination,  however  extraordinary  they 
may  appear.  It  is  certain  we  cannot  take  pleasure  in 
any  discourse,  where  our  judgment  gives  no  assent  to 
those  images  which  are  presented  to  our  fancy.  The 
conversation  of  those,  who  have  acquired  a  habit  of 
lying,  though  in  affairs  of  no  moment,  never  gives  any 
satisfaction ;  and  that  because  those  ideas  they  present 
to  us,  not  being  attended  with  belief,  make  no  impres- 
sion upon  the  mind.     Poets  themselves,  though  liars  by 


158  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

profession,  always  endeavor  to  give  an  air  of  truth  to 
their  fictions ;  and  where  that  is  totally  neglected,  their 
performances,  however  ingenious,  will  never  be  able  to 
afford  much  pleasure.  In  short,  we  may  observe,  that 
even  when  ideas  have  no  manner  of  influence  on  the 
will  and  passions,  truth  and  reality  are  still  requisite,  in 
order  to  make  them  entertaining  to  the  imagination. 

But  if  we  compare  together  all  the  phenomena  that 
occur  on  this  head,  we  shall  find,  that  truth,  however 
necessary  it  may  seem  in  all  works  of  genius,  has  no 
other  effect  than  to  procure  an  easy  reception  for  the 
ideas,  and  to  make  the  mind  acquiesce  in  them  with  sat- 
isfaction, or  at  least  without  reluctance.  But  as  this  is 
an  effect,  which  may  easily  be  supposed  to  flow  from 
that  solidity  and  force,  which,  according  to  my  system, 
attend  those  ideas  that  are  established  by  reasonings 
from  causation  ;  it  follows,  that  all  the  influence  of  belief 
upon  the  fancy  may  be  explained  from  that  system. 
Accordingly  we  may  observe,  that  wherever  that  influ- 
ence arises  from  any  other  principles  beside  truth  or 
reality,  they  supply  its  place,  and  give  an  equal  enter- 
tainment to  the  imagination.  Poets  have  formed  what 
they  call  a  poetical  system  of  things,  which,  though  it  be 
believed  neither  by  themselves  nor  readers,  is  commonly 
esteemed  a  sufficient  foundation  for  any  fiction.  We 
have  been  so  much  accustomed  to  the  names  of  Mars, 
Jupiter,  Venus,  that  in  the  same  manner  as  education 
infixes  any  opinion,  the  constant  repetition  of  these  ideas 
makes  them  enter  into  the  mind  with  facility,  and  pre- 
vail upon  the  fancy,  without  influencing  the  judgment. 
In  like  manner  tragedians  always  borrow  their  fable,  or 
at  least  the  names  of  their  principal  actors,  from  some 
known  passage  in  history;  and  that  not  in  order  to 
deceive  the  spectators;  for   they  will  frankly  confess, 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  159 

that  truth  is  not  in  any  circumstance  inviolably 
observed,  but  in  order  to  procure  a  more  easy  re- 
ception into  the  imagination  for  those  extraordinary 
events,  which  they  represent.  But  this  is  a  precau- 
tion which  is  not  required  of  comic  poets,  whose  per- 
sonages and  incidents,  being  of  a  more  familiar  kind, 
enter  easily  into  the  conception,  and  are  received  with- 
out any  such  formality,  even  though  at  first  sight  they 
be  known  to  be  fictitious,  and  the  pure  offspring  of 
the  fancy. 

This  mixture  of  truth  and  falsehood  in  the  fables  of 
tragic  poets  not  only  serves  our  present  purpose,  by 
showing  that  the  imagination  can  be  satisfied  without 
any  absolute  belief  or  assurance ;  but  may  in  another 
view  be  regarded  as  a  very  strong  confirmation  of  this 
system.  It  is  evident,  that  poets  make  use  of  this 
artifice  of  borrowing  the  names  of  their  persons,  and  the 
chief  events  of  their  poems,  from  history,  in  order  to 
procure  a  more  easy  reception  for  the  whole,  and  cause 
it  to  make  a  deeper  impression  on  the  fancy  and  affec- 
tions. The  several  incidents  of  the  piece  acquire  a  kind 
of  relation  by  being  united  into  one  poem  or  represen- 
tation; and  if  any  of  these  incidents  be  an  object  of 
belief,  it  bestows  a  force  and  vivacity  on  the  others, 
which  are  related  to  it.  The  vividness  of  the  first 
conception  diffuses  itself  along  the  relations,  and  is 
conveyed,  as  by  so  many  pipes  or  canals,  to  every  idea 
that  has  any  communication  with  the  primary  one. 
This  indeed  can  never  amount  to  a  perfect  assurance ; 
and  that  because  the  union  among  the  ideas  is  in  a 
manner  accidental :  but  still  it  approaches  so  near  in  its 
influence,  as  may  convince  us  that  they  are  derived  from 
the  same  origin.  Belief  must  please  the  imagination  by 
means  of  the  force  and  vivacity  which  attends  it ;  since 


160  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

every  idea,  which  has  force  and  vivacity,  is  found  to  be 
agreeable  to  that  faculty. 

To  confirm  this  we  may  observe,  that  the  assistance 
is  mutual  betwixt  the  judgment  and  fancy,  as  well  as 
betwixt  the  judgment  and  passion;  and  that  belief  not 
only  gives  vigor  to  the  imagination,  but  that  a  vigorous 
and  strong  imagination  is  of  all  talents  the  most  proper 
to  procure  belief  and  authority.  It  is  difficult  for  us  to 
withhold  our  assent  from  what  is  painted  out  to  us"  in  all 
the  colors  of  eloquence ;  and  the  vivacity  produced  by 
the  fancy  is  in  many  cases  greater  than  that  which  arises 
from  custom  and  experience.  We  are  hurried  away  by 
the  lively  imagination  of  our  author  or  companion ;  and 
even  he  himself  is  often  a  victim  to  his  own  fire  and 
genius. 

Nor  will  it  be  amiss  to  remark,  that  as  a  lively  imagi- 
nation very  often  degenerates  into  madness  or  folly,  and 
bears  it  a  great  resemblance  in  its  operations ;  so  they 
influence  the  judgment  after  the  same  manner,  and  pro- 
duce belief  from  the  very  same  principles.  When  the 
imagination,  from  any  extraordinary  ferment  of  the 
blood  and  spirits,  acquires  such  a  vivacity  as  disorders 
all  its  powers  and  faculties,  there  is  no  means  of  distin- 
guishing betwixt  truth  and  falsehood ;  but  every  loose 
fiction  or  idea,  having  the  same  influence  as  the  impres- 
sions of  the  memory,  or  the  conclusions  of  the  judg- 
ment, is  received  on  the  same  footing,  and  operates  with 
equal  force  on  the  passions.  A  present  impression  and 
a  customary  transition  are  now  no  longer  necessary  to 
enliven  our  ideas.  Every  chimera  of  the  brain  is  as 
vivid  and  intense  as  any  of  those  inferences,  which  we 
formerly  dignified  with  the  name  of  conclusions  concern- 
ing matters  of  fact,  and  sometimes  as  the  present  impres- 
sions of  the  senses. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  161 

We  may  observe  the  same  effect  of  poetry  in  a  lesser 
degree ;  and  this  is  common  both  to  poetry  and  mad- 
ness, that  the  vivacity  they  bestow  on  the  ideas  is  not 
derived  from  the  particular  situations  or  connections  of 
the  objects  of  these  ideas,  but  from  the  present  temper 
and  disposition  of  the  person.  But  how  great  soever  the 
pitch  may  be  to  which  this  vivacity  rise,  it  is  evident, 
that  in  poetry  it  never  has  the  same  feeling  with  that 
which  arises  in  the  mind,  when  we  reason,  though  even 
upon  the  lowest  species  of  probability.  The  mind  can 
easily  distinguish  betwixt  the  one  and  the  other ;  and 
whatever  emotion  the  poetical  enthusiasm  may  give  to 
the  spirits,  it  is  still  the  mere  phantom  of  belief  or  per- 
suasion. The  case  is  the  same  with  the  idea  as  with  the 
passion  it  occasions.  There  is  no  passion  of  the  human 
mind  but  what  may  arise  from  poetry ;  though,  at  the 
same  time,  the  feelings  of  the  passions  are  very  different 
when  excited  by  poetical  fictions,  from  what  they  are 
when  they  arise  from  belief  and  reality.  A  passion 
which  is  disagreeable  in  real  life,  may  afford  the  highest 
entertainment  in  a  tragedy  or  epic  poem.  In  the  latter 
case  it  lies  not  with  that  weight  upon  us :  it  feels  less 
firm  and  solid,  and  has  no  other  than  the  agreeable 
effect  of  exciting  the  spirits,  and  rousing  the  attention. 
The  difference  in  the  passions  is  a  clear  proof  of  a  like 
difference  in  those  ideas  from  which  the  passions  are 
derived.  Where  the  vivacity  arises  from  a  customary 
conjunction  with  a  present  impression,  though  the 
imagination  may  not,  in  appearance,  be  so  much  moved, 
yet  there  is  always  something  more  forcible  and  real  in 
its  actions  than  in  the  fervors  of  poetry  and  eloquence. 
The  force  of  our  mental  actions  in  this  case,  no  more 
than  in  any  other,  is  not  to  be  measured  by  the 
apparent  agitation  of  the  mind.     A  poetical  description 

vol.  i.  14 


162  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

may  have  a  more  sensible  effect  on  the  fancy  than  an 
historical  narration.  It  may  collect  more  of  those  cir- 
cumstances that  form  a  complete  image  or  picture.  It 
may  seem  to  set  the  object  before  us  in  more  lively 
colors.  But  still  the  ideas  it  presents  are  different  to 
the  feeling  from  those  which  arise  from  the  memory  and 
the  judgment.  There  is  something  weak  and  imperfect 
amidst  all  that  seeming  vehemence  of  thought  and  sen- 
timent which  attends  the  fictions  of  poetry. 

We  shall  afterwards  have  occasion  to  remark  both 
the  resemblances  and  differences  betwixt  a  poetical 
enthusiasm  and  a  serious  conviction.  In  the  mean  time, 
I  cannot  forbear  observing,  that  the  great  difference  in 
their  feeling  proceeds,  in  some  measure,  from  reflection 
and  general  rules.  We  observe,  that  the  vigor  of  concep- 
tion which  fictions  receive  from  poetry  and  eloquence, 
is  a  circumstance  merely  accidental,  of  which  every  idea 
is  equally  susceptible ;  and  that  such  fictions  are  con- 
nected with  nothing  that  is  real.  This  observation 
makes  us  only  lend  ourselves,  so  to  speak,  to  the  fiction, 
but  causes  the  idea  to  feel  very  different  from  the  eter- 
nal established  persuasions  founded  on  memory  and 
custom.  They  are  somewhat  of  the  same  kind ;  but  the 
one  is  much  inferior  to  the  other,  both  in  its  causes  and 
effects. 

A  like  reflection  on  general  rules  keeps  us  from  aug- 
menting our  belief  upon  every  increase  of  the  force  and 
vivacity  of  our  ideas.  Where  an  opinion  admits  of  no 
doubt,  or  opposite  probability,  we  attribute  to  it  a  full 
conviction  j  though  the  want  of  resemblance,  or  con- 
tiguity, may  render  its  force  inferior  to  that  of  other 
opinions.  It  is  thus  the  understanding  corrects  the 
appearances  of  the  senses,  and  makes  us  imagine,  that  an 
object  at  twenty  foot  distance  seems  even  to  the  eye  as 
large  as  one  of  the  same  dimensions  at  ten. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  163 

We  may  observe  the  same  effect  of  poetry  in  a  lesser 
degree ;  only  with  this  difference,  that  the  least  reflec- 
tion dissipates  the  illusions  of  poetry,  and  places  the 
objects  in  their  proper  light.  It  is  however  certain,  that 
in  the  warmth  of  a  poetical  enthusiasm,  a  poet  has  a 
counterfeit  belief,  and  even  a  kind  of  vision  of  his 
objects ;  and  if  there  be  any  shadow  of  argument  to 
support  this  belief,  nothing  contributes  more  to  his  full 
conviction  than  a  blaze  of  poetical  figures  and  images, 
which  have  their  effect  upon  the  poet  himself,  as  well 
as  upon  his  readers. 


SECTION  XL 

OF  THE  PROBABILITY  OF  CHANCES. 

But  in  order  to  bestow  on  this  system  its  full  force 
and  evidence,  we  must  carry  our  eye  from  it  a  moment 
to  consider  its  consequences,  and  explain,  from  the  same 
principles,  some  other  species  of  reasoning  which  are 
derived  from  the  same  origin. 

Those  philosophers  who  have  divided  human  reason 
into  hioivledge  and  probability,  and  have  defined  the  first 
to  be  that  evidence  ivhich  arises  from  the  comparison  of  ideas, 
are  obliged  to  comprehend  all  our  arguments  from 
causes  or  effects  under  the  general  term  of  probability. 
But  though  every  one  be  free  to  use  his  terms  in  what 
sense  he  pleases ;  and  accordingly,  in  the  precedent  part 
of  this  discourse,  I  have  followed  this  method  of  expres- 
sion ;  it  is  however  certain,  that  in  common  discourse 
we  readily  affirm,  that  many  arguments  from  causation 
exceed  probability,  and  may  be  received  as  a  superior 
kind  of  evidence.     One  would  appear  ridiculous  who 


164  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

would  say,  that  it  is  only  probable  the  sun  will  rise 
to-morrow,  or  that  all  men  must  die ;  though  it  is  plain 
we  have  no  further  assurance  of  these  facts  than  what 
experience  affords  us.  For  this  reason  it  would  perhaps 
be  more  convenient,  in  order  at  once  to  preserve  the 
common  signification  of  words,  and  mark  the  several 
degrees  of  evidence,  to  distinguish  human  reason  into 
three  kinds,  viz.  that  from  knowledge,  from  proof  *,  and  from 
probabilities.  By  knowledge,  I  mean  the  assurance  aris- 
ing from  the  comparison  of  ideas.  By  proofs,  those 
arguments  which  are  derived  from  the  relation  of  cause 
and  effect,  and  which  are  entirely  free  from  doubt  and 
uncertainty.  By  probability,  that  evidence  which  is 
still  attended  with  uncertainty.  It  is  this  last  species  of 
reasoning  I  proceed  to  examine. 

Probability  or  reasoning  from  conjecture  may  be 
divided  into  two  kinds,  viz.  that  which  is  founded  on 
chance,  and  that  which  arises  from  causes.  We  shall  con- 
sider each  of  these  in  order. 

}  The  idea  of  cause  and  effect  is  derived  from  expe- 
rience, which,  presenting  us  with  certain  objects  con- 
stantly conjoined  with  each  other,  produces  such  a 
habit  of  surveying  them  in  that  relation,  that  we  cannot, 
without  a  sensible  violence,  survey  them  in  any  other. 
On  the  other  hand,  as  chance  is  nothing  real  in  itself, 
and,  properly  speaking,  is  merely  the  negation  of  a 
cause,  its  influence  on  the  mind  is  contrary  to  that  of 
causation ;  and  it  is  essential  to  it  to  leave  the  imagina- 
tion perfectly  indifferent,  either  to  consider  the  existence 
or  non-existence  of  that  object  which  is  regarded  as 
contingent.  A  cause  traces  the  way  to  our  thought,  and 
in  a  manner  forces  us  to  survey  such  certain  objects  in 
such  certain  relations.  Chance  can  only  destroy  this 
determination  of  the  thought,  and  leave  the  mind  in  its 


OF  THE   UNDERSTANDING.  165 

native  situation  of  indifference;    in  which,  upon  the 
absence  of  a  cause,  it  is  instantly  reinstated. 

Since,  therefore,  an  entire  indifference  is  essential  to 
chance,  no  one  chance  can  possibly  be  superior  to 
another,  otherwise  than  as  it  is  composed  of  a  superior 
number  of  equal  chances.  For  if  we  affirm  that  one 
chance  can,  after  any  other  manner,  be  superior  to 
another,  we  must  at  the  same  time  affirm,  that  there  is 
something  which  gives  it  the  superiority,  and  determines 
the  event  rather  to  that  side  than  the  other :  that  is,  in 
other  words,  we  must  allow  of  a  cause,  and  destroy  the 
supposition  of  chance,  which  we  had  before  established. 
A  perfect  and  total  indifference  is  essential  to  chance, 
and  one  total  indifference  can  never  in  itself  be  either 
superior  or  inferior  to  another.  This  truth  is  not  pecu- 
liar to  my  system,  but  is  acknowledged  by  every  one 
that  forms  calculations  concerning  chances. 

And  here  it  is  remarkable,  that  though  chance  and 
causation  be  directly  contrary,  yet  it  is  impossible  for 
lis  to  conceive  this  combination  of  chances,  which  is' 
requisite  to  render  one  hazard  superior  to  another,  with- 
out supposing  a  mixture  of  causes  among  the  chances, 
and  a  conjunction  of  necessity  in  some  particulars,  with 
a  total  indifference  in  others.  Where  nothing  limits  the 
chances,  every  notion  that  the  most  extravagant  fancy 
can  form  is  upon  a  footing  of  equality ;  nor  can  there 
be  any  circumstance  to  give  one  the  advantage  above 
another.  Thus,  unless  we  allow  that  there  are  some 
causes  to  make  the  dice  fall,  and  preserve  their  form  in 
their  fall,  and  lie  upon  some  one  of  their  sides,  we  can 
form  no  calculation  concerning  the  laws  of  hazard.  But 
supposing  these  causes  to  operate,  and  supposing  like- 
wise all  the  rest  to  be  indifferent  and  to  be  determined 
by  chance,  it  is  easy  to  arrive  at  a  notion  of  a  superior 

14* 


166  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

combination  of  chances.  A  die  that  has  four  sides 
marked  with  a  certain  number  of  spots,  and  only  two 
with  another,  affords  us  an  obvious  and  easy  instance  of 
this  superiority.  The  mind  is  here  limited  by  the  causes 
to  such  a  precise  number  and  quality  of  the  events ; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  is  undetermined  in  its  choice  of 
any  particular  event. 

Proceeding,  then,  in  that  reasoning,  wherein  we  have 
advanced  three  steps ;  that  chance  is  merely  the  negation 
of  a  cause,  and  produces  a  total  indifference  in  the 
mind ;  that  one  negation  of  a  cause  and  one  total  indif- 
ference can  never  be  superior  or  inferior  to  another; 
that  there  must  always  be  a  mixture  of  causes  among 
the  chances,  in  order  to  be  the  foundation  of  any  reason- 
ing. We  are  next  to  consider  what  effect  a  superior 
combination  of  chances  can  have  upon  the  mind,  and 
after  what  manner  it  influences  our  judgment  and 
opinion.  Here  we  may  repeat  all  the  same  arguments 
we  employed  in  examining  that  belief  which  arises  from 
causes ;  and  may  prove,  after  the  same  manner,  that  a 
superior  number  of  chances  produces  our  assent  neither 
by  demonstration  nor  probability.  It  is  indeed  evident,  that 
we  can  never,  by  the  comparison  of  mere  ideas,  make 
any  discovery  which  can  be  of  consequence  in  this 
affair,  and  that  it  is  impossible  to  prove  with  certainty 
that  any  event  must  fall  on  that  side  where  there  is  a 
superior  number  of  chances.  To  suppose  in  this  case 
any  certainty,  were  to  overthrow  what  we  have  estab- 
lished concerning  the  opposition  of  chances,  and  their 
perfect  equality  and  indifference. 

Should  it  be  said,  that  though  in  an  opposition  of 
chances,  it  is  impossible  to  determine  with  certainty  on 
which  side  the  event  will  fall,  yet  we  can  pronounce 
with  certainty,  that  it  is  more  likely  and  probable  it  will 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  167 

be  on  that  side  where  there  is  a  superior  number  of 
chances,  than  where  there  is  an  inferior :  should  this  be 
said,  I  would  ask,  what  is  here  meant  by  likelihood  and 
probability  t  The  likelihood  and  probability  of  chances 
is  a  superior  number  of  equal  chances ;  and  consequently, 
when  we  say  it  is  likely  the  event  will  fall  on  the  side 
which  is  superior,  rather  than  on  the  inferior,  we  do  no 
more  than  affirm,  that  where  there  is  a  superior  number 
of  chances  there  is  actually  a  superior,  and  where  there 
is  an  inferior  there  is  an  inferior,  which  are  identical 
propositions,  and  of  no  consequence.  The  question  is, 
by  what  means  a  superior  number  of  equal  chances 
operates  upon  the  mind,  and  produces  belief  or  assent, 
since  it  appears  that  it  is  neither  by  arguments  derived 
from  demonstration,  nor  from  probability. 

In  order  to  clear  up  this  difficulty,  we  shall  suppose 
a  person  to  take  a  die,  formed  after  such  a  manner  as 
that  four  of  its  sides  are  marked  with  one  figure,  or 
one  number  of  spots,  and  two  with  another;  and  to  put 
this  die  into  the  box  with  an  intention  of  throwing  it  : 
it  is  plain,  he  must  conclude  the  one  figure  to  be  more 
probable  than  the  other,  and  give  the  preference  to 
that  which  is  inscribed  on  the  greatest  number  of  sides. 
He  in  a  manner  believes  that  this  will  lie  uppermost ; 
though  still  with  hesitation  and  doubt,  in  proportion 
to  the  number  of  chances  which  are  contrary:  and 
according  as  these  contrary  chances  diminish,  and  the 
superiority  increases  on  the  other  side,  his  belief  ac- 
quires new  degrees  of  stability  and  assurance.  This 
belief  arises  from  an  operation  of  the  mind  upon  the 
simple  and  limited  object  before  us;  and  therefore  its 
nature  will  be  the  more  easily  discovered  and  explained. 
We  have  nothing  but  one  single  die  to  contemplate,  in 


168  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

order  to  comprehend  one  of  the  most  curious  operations 
of  the  understanding. 

This  die  formed  as  above,  contains  three  circum- 
stances worthy  of  our  attention.  First,  certain  causes, 
such  as  gravity,  solidity,  a  cubical  figure,  etc.  which 
determine  it  to  fall,  to  preserve  its  form  in  its  fall,  and 
to  turn  up  one  of  its  sides.  Secondly,  a  certain  number 
of  sides,  which  are  supposed  indifferent.  Thirdly,  a  cer- 
tain figure  inscribed  on  each  side.  These  three  particu- 
lars, form  the  whole  nature  of  the  die,  so  far  as  relates 
to  our  present  purpose ;  and  consequently  are  the  only 
circumstances  regarded  by  the  mind  in  its  forming  a 
judgment  concerning  the  result  of  such  a  throw.  Let 
us  therefore  consider  gradually  and  carefully  what  must 
be  the  influence  of  these  circumstances  on  the  thought 
and  imagination. 

First,  we  have  already  observed,  that  the  mind  is 
determined  by  custom  to  pass  from  any  cause  to  its 
effect,  and  that  upon  the  appearance  of  the  one,  it  is 
almost  impossible  for  it  not  to  form  an  idea  of  the  other. 
Their  constant  conjunction  in  past  instances  has  pro- 
duced such  a  habit  in  the  mind,  that  it  always  conjoins 
them  in  its  thought,  and  infers  the  existence  of  the  one 
from  that  of  its  usual  attendant.  When  it  considers  the 
die  as  no  longer  supported  by  the  box,  it  cannot  with- 
out violence  regard  it  as  suspended  in  the  air;  but 
naturally  places  it  on  the  table,  and  views  it  as  turning 
up  one  of  its  sides.  This  is  the  effect  of  the  inter- 
mingled causes,  which  are  requisite  to  our  forming  any 
calculation  concerning  chances. 

Secondly,  it  is  supposed,  that  though  the  die  be 
necessarily  determined  to  fall,  and  turn  up  one  of  its 
sides,  yet  there  is  nothing  to  fix  the  particular  side,  but 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  169 

that  this  is  determined  entirely  by  chance.  The  very 
nature  and  essence  of  chance  is  a  negation  of  causes, 
and  the  leaving  the  mind  in  a  perfect  indifference 
among  those  events  which  are  supposed  contingent. 
When,  therefore,  the  thought  is  determined  by  the 
causes  to  consider  the  die  as  falling  and  turning  up  one 
of  its  sides,  the  chances  present  all  these  sidles  as  equal, 
and  make  us  consider  every  one  of  them,  one  after 
another,  as  alike  probable  and  possible.  The  imagina- 
tion passes  from  the  cause,  viz.  the  throwing  of  the  die, 
to  the  effect,  viz.  the  turning  up  one  of  the  six  sides ; 
and  feels  a  kind  of  impossibility  both  of  stopping  short  in 
the  way,  and  of  forming  any  other  idea.  But  as  all 
these  six  sides  are  incompatible,  and  the  die  cannot  turn 
up  above  one  at  once,  this  principle  directs  us  not  to 
consider  all  of  them  at  once  as  lying  uppermost,  which 
we  look  upon  as  impossible :  neither  does  it  direct  us 
with  its  entire  force  to  any  particular  side ;  for  in  that 
case  this  side  would  be  considered  as  certain  and  inevi- 
table ;  but  it  directs  us  to  the  whole  six  sides  after  such 
a  manner  as  to  divide  its  force  equally  among  them. 
We  conclude  in  general,  that  some  one  of  them  must 
result  from  the  throw :  we  run  all  of  them  over  in  our 
minds :  the  determination  of  tfie  thought  is  common  to 
all ;  but  no  more  of  its  force  falls  to  the  share  of  any  one, 
than  what  is  suitable  to  its  proportion  with  the  rest. 
It  is  after  this  manner  the  original  impulse,  and  con- 
sequently the  vivacity  of  thought  arising  from  the 
causes,  is  divided  and  split  in  pieces  by  the  intermingled 
chances. 

We  have  already  seen  the  influence  of  the  two  first 
qualities  of  the  die,  viz.  the  causes,  and  the  number, 
and  indifference  of  the  sides,  and  have  learned  how  they 
give  an  impulse  to  the  thought,  and  divide  that  impulse 


170  OF  THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

into  as  many  parts  as  there  are  units  in  the  number  of 
sides.  We  must  now  consider  the  effects  of  the  third 
particular,  viz.  the  figures  inscribed  on  each  side.  It  is 
evident,  that  where  several  sides  have  the  same  figure 
inscribed  on  them,  they  must  concur  in  their  influence 
on  the  mind,  and  must  unite  upon  one  image  or  idea  of 
a  figure,  all  those  divided  impulses  that  were  dispersed 
over  the  several  sides  upon  which  that  figure  is  in- 
scribed. Were  the  question  only  what  side  will  be 
turned  up,  these  are  all  perfectly  equal,  and  no  one 
could  ever  have  any  advantage  above  another.  But  as 
the  question  is  concerning  the  figure,  and  as  the  same 
figure  is  presented  by  more  than  one  side,  it  is  evident 
that  the  impulses  belonging  to  all  these  sides  must  re- 
unite in  that  one  figure,  and  become  stronger  and  more 
forcible  by  the  union.  Four  sides  are  supposed  in  the 
present  case  to  have  the  same  figure  inscribed  on  them, 
and  two  to  have  another  figure.  The  impulses  of  the 
former  are  therefore  superior  to  those  of  the  latter. 
But  as  the  events  are  contrary,  and  it  is  impossible  both 
these  figures  can  be  turned  up ;  the  impulses,  likewise, 
become  contrary,  and  the  inferior  destroys  the  superior, 
as  far  as  its  strength  goes.  The  vivacity  of  the  idea  is 
always  proportionable  to  the  degrees  of  the  impulse  or 
tendency  to  the  transition ;  and  belief  is  the  same  with 
the  vivacity  of  the  idea,  according  to  the  precedent 
doctrine. 


. 


// 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  171     » 

SECTION  XII. 

OF  THE  PROBABILITY  OF  CAUSES. 


What  I  have  said  concerning  the  probability  of 
chances,  can  serve  to  no  other  purpose  than  to  assist 
us  in  explaining  the  probability  of  causes ;  since  it  is 
commonly  allowed  by  philosophers,  that  what  the  vul- 
gar call  chance,  is  nothing  but  a  secret  and  concealed 
cause.  That  species  of  probability,  therefore,  is  what 
we  must  chiefly  examine. 

The  probabilities  of  causes  are  of  several  kinds ;  but 
//are  all  derived  from  the  same  origin,  viz.  the  association 
[( of  ideas  to  a  present  impression.  As  the  habit  which  pro- 
duces the  association,  arises  from  the  frequent  conjunc- 
tion of  objects,  it  must  arrive  at  its  perfection  by 
degrees,  and  must  acquire  new  force  from  each  instance 
that  falls  under  our  observation.  The  first  instance  has 
little  or  no  force :  the  second  makes  some  addition  to 
it :  the  third  becomes  still  more  sensible ;  and  it  is  by 
these  slow  steps  that  our  judgment  arrives  at  a  full  assur- 
ance. But  before  it  attains  this  pitch  of  perfection,  it 
passes  through  several  inferior  degrees,  and  in  all  of 
them  is  only  to  be  esteemed  a  presumption  or  proba- 
bility. The  gradation,  therefore,  from  probabilities  to 
proofs,  is  in  many  cases  insensible ;  and  the  difference 
betwixt  these  kinds  of  evidence  is  more  easily  perceived 
in  the  remote  degrees,  than  in  the  near  and  contiguous. 
It  is  worthy  of  remark  on  this  occasion,  that  though 
the  species  of  probability  here  explained  be  the  first  in 
order,  and  naturally  takes  place  before  any  entire  proof 
can  exist,  yet  no  one,  who  is  arrived  at  the  age  of 


172  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

maturity,  can  any  longer  be  acquainted  with  it.  It  is 
true,  nothing  is  more  common  than  for  people  of  the 
most  advanced  knowledge  to  have  attained  only  an 
imperfect  experience  of  many  particular  events ;  which 
naturally  produces  only  an  imperfect  habit  and  transi- 
tion :  but  then  we  must  consider,  that  the  mind,  having 
formed  another  observation  concerning  the  connection 
of  causes  and  effects,  gives  new  force  to  its  reasoning 
from  that  observation  5  and  by  means  of  it  can  build  an 
argument  on  one  single  experiment,  when  duly  pre- 
pared and  examined.  What  we  have  found  once  to 
follow  from  any  object,  we  conclude  will  for  ever  follow 
from  it ;  and  if  this  maxim  be  not  always  built  upon 
as  certain,  it  is  not  for  want  of  a  sufficient  number  of 
experiments,  but  because  we  frequently  meet  with 
instances  to  the  contrary ;  which  leads  us  to  the  second 
species  of  probability,  where  there  is  a  contrariety  in  our 
experience  and  observation. 

It  would  be  very  happy  for  men  in  the  conduct  of 
their  lives  and  actions,  were  the  same  objects  always 
conjoined  together,  and  we  had  nothing  to  fear  but  the 
mistakes  of  our  own  judgment,  without  having  any 
reason  to  apprehend  the  uncertainty  of  nature.  But 
as  it  is  frequently  found,  that  one  observation  is  contrary 
to  another,  and  that  causes  and  effects  follow  not  in  the 
same  order,  of  which  we  have  had  experience,  we  are 
obliged  to  vary  our  reasoning  on  account  of  this  uncer- 
tainty, and  take  into  consideration  the  contrariety  of 
events.  The  first  question  that  occurs  on  this  head,  is 
concerning  the  nature  and  causes  of  the  contrariety. 

The  vulgar,  who  take  things  according  to  their  first 
appearance,  attribute  the  uncertainty  of  events  to  such 
an  uncertainty  in  the  causes,  as  makes  them  often  fail 
of  their   usual   influence,  though   they  meet  with   no 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  173 

obstacle  nor  impediment  in  their  operation.  But  philo- 
sophers observing,  that  almost  in  every  part  of  nature 
there  is  contained  a  vast  variety  of  springs  and  princi- 
ples, which  are  hid,  by  reason  of  their  minuteness  or 
remoteness,  find  that  it  is  at  least  possible  the  contra- 
riety of  events  may  not  proceed  from  any  contingency 
in  the  cause,  but  from  the  secret  operation  of  contrary 
causes.  This  possibility  is  converted  into  certainty  by 
further  observation,  when  they  remark,  that  upon  an 
exact  scrutiny,  a  contrariety  of  effects  always  betrays 
a  contrariety  of  causes,  and  proceeds  from  their  mutual 
hinderance  and  opposition.  A  peasant  can  give  no 
better  reason  for  the  stopping  of  any  clock  or  watch 
than  to  say,  that  commonly  it  does  not  go  right :  but 
an  artisan  easily  perceives,  that  the  same  force  in  the 
spring  or  pendulum  has  always  the  same  influence  on 
the  wheels;  but  fails  of  its  usual  effect,  perhaps  by 
reason  of  a  grain  of  dust,  which  puts  a  stop  to  the 
whole  movement.  From  the  observation  of  several 
parallel  instances,  philosophers  form  a  maxim,  that  the 
connection  betwixt  all  causes  and  effects  is  equally 
necessary,  and  that  its  seeming  uncertainty  in  some 
instances  proceeds  from  the  secret  opposition  of  con- 
trary causes. 

But  however  philosophers  and  the  vulgar  may  differ 
in  their  explication  of  the  contrariety  of  events,  their 
inferences  from  it  are  always  of  the  same  kind,  and 
founded  on  the  same  principles.  A  contrariety  of  events 
in  the  past  may  give  us  a  kind  of  hesitating  belief  for 
the  future,  after  two  several  ways.  First,  by  producing 
an  imperfect  habit  and  transition  from  the  present 
impression  to  the  related  idea.  When  the  conjunction 
of  any  two  objects  is  frequent,  without  being  entirely 
constant,  the  mind  is  determined  to  pass  from  one  object 

vol.  i.  15 


171  OF   THE   UNDERSTA 

to  the  other ;  but  not  with  so  entire"a  habit,  as  when 
the  union  is  uninterrupted,  and  all  the  instances  we 
have  ever  met  with  are  uniform  and  of  a  piece.  "We 
find  from  common  experience,  in  our  actions  as  well  as 
reasonings,  that  a  constant  perseverance  in  any  course 
of  life  produces  a  strong  inclination  and  tendency  to 
continue  for  the  future;  though  there  are  habits  of 
inferior  degrees  of  force,  proportioned  to  the  inferior 
degrees  of  steadiness  and  uniformity  in  our  conduct. 

There  is  no  doubt  but  this  principle  sometimes  takes 
place,  and  produces  those  inferences  we  draw  from  con- 
trary phenomena;  though  I  am  persuaded  that,  upon 
examination,  we  shall  not  find  it  to  be  the  principle  that 
most  commonly  influences  the  mind  in  this  species  of 
reasoning.  When  we  follow  only  the  habitual  determi- 
nation of  the  mind,  we  make  the  transition  without  any 
reflection,  and  interpose  not  a  moment's  delay  betwixt 
the  view  of  one  object,  and  the  belief  of  that  which  is 
often  found  to  attend  it.  As  the  custom  depends  not 
upon  any  deliberation,  it  operates  immediately,  without 
allowing  any  time  for  reflection.  But  this  method  of 
proceeding  we  have  but  few  instances  of  in  our  probable 
reasonings ;  and  even  fewer  than  in  those,  which  are 
derived  from  the  uninterrupted  conjunction  of  objects. 
In  the  former  species  of  reasoning  we  commonly  take 
knowingly  into  consideration  the  contrariety  of  past 
events;  we  compare  the  different  sides  of  the  contra- 
riety, and  carefully  weigh  the  experiments,  which  we 
have  on  each  side :  whence  we  may  conclude,  that  our 
reasonings  of  this  kind  arise  not  directly  from  the  habit, 
but  in  an  oblique  manner  ;  which  we  must  now  endeavor 
to  explain. 

It  is  evident,  that  when  an  object  is  attended  with 
contrary  effects,  we  judge   of  them  only  by  our  past 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  175 

experience,  and  always  consider  those  as  possible,  which 
we  have  observed  to  follow  from  it.  And  as  past  expe- 
rience regulates  our  judgment  concerning  the  possibility 
of  these  effects,  so  it  does  that  concerning  their  proba- 
bility ;  and  that  effect,  which  has  been  the  most  common, 
we  always  esteem  the  most  likely.  Here  then  are  two 
things  to  be  considered,  viz.  the  reasons  which  determine 
us  to  make  the  past  a  standard  for  the  future,  and  the 
manner  how  we  extract  a  single  judgment  from  a  contra- 
riety of  past  events. 

First  we  may  observe,  that  the  supposition,  that  the 
future  resembles  the  past,  is  not  founded  on  arguments  of 
any  kind,  but  is  derived  entirely  from  habit,  by  which 
we  are  determined  to  expect  for  the  future  the  same 
train  of  objects  to  which  we  have  been  accustomed. 
This  habit  or  determination  to  transfer  the  past  to  the 
future  is  full  and  perfect ;  and  consequently  the  first 
impulse  of  the  imagination  in  this  species  of  reasoning 
is  endowed  with  the  same  qualities. 

But,  secondly,  when  in  considering  past  experiments 
we  find  them  of  a  contrary  nature,  this  determination, 
though  full  and  perfect  in  itself,  presents  us  with  no 
steady  object,  but  offers  us  a  number  of  disagreeing 
images  in  a  certain  order  and  proportion.  The  first 
impulse  therefore  is  here  broke  into  pieces,  and  diffuses 
itself  over  all  those  images,  of  which  each  partakes  an 
equal  share  of  that  force  and  vivacity  that  is  derived 
from  the  impulse.  Any  of  these  past  events  may  again 
happen ;  and  we  judge,  that  when  they  do  happen,  they 
will  be  mixed  in  the  same  proportion  as  in  the  past. 

If  our  intention,  therefore,  be  to  consider  the  propor- 
tions of  contrary  events  in  a  great  number  of  instances, 
the  images  presented  by  our  past  experience  must  remain 
in  their  first  form,  and  preserve  their  first  proportions. 


176  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

Suppose,  for  instance,  I  have  found,  by  long  observation, 
that  of  twenty  ships  which  go  to  sea,  only  nineteen 
return.  Suppose  I  see  at  present  twenty  ships  that 
leave  the  port :  I  transfer  my  past  experience  to  the 
future,  and  represent  to  myself  nineteen  of  these  ships 
as  returning  in  safety,  and  one  as  perishing.  Concerning 
this  there  can  be  no  difficulty.  But  as  we  frequently 
run  over  those  several  ideas  of  past  events,  in  order  to 
form  a  judgment  concerning  one  single  event,  which 
appears  uncertain ;  this  consideration  must  change  the 
first  form  of  our  ideas,  and  draw  together  the  divided 
images  presented  by  experience ;  since  it  is  to  it  we 
refer  the  determination  of  that  particular  event,  upon 
which  we  reason.  Many  of  these  images  are  supposed 
to  concur,  and  a  superior  number  to  concur  on  one  side. 
These  agreeing  images  unite  together,  and  render  the 
idea  more  strong  and  lively,  not  only  than  a  mere  fiction 
of  the  imagination,  but  also  than  any  idea,  which  is  sup- 
ported by  a  lesser  number  of  experiments.  Each  new 
experiment  is  as  a  new  stroke  of  the  pencil,  which 
bestows  an  additional  vivacity  on  the  colors,  without 
either  multiplying  or  enlarging  the  figure.  This  opera- 
tion of  the  mind  has  been  so  fully  explained  in  treating 
of  the  probability  of  chance,  that  I  need  not  here 
endeavor  to  render  it  more  intelligible.  Every  past 
experiment  may  be  considered  as  a  kind  of  chance;  it 
being  uncertain  to  us,  whether  the  object  will  exist  con- 
formable to  one  experiment  or  another:  and  for  this 
reason  every  thing  that  has  been  said  on  the  one  subject 
is  applicable  to  both. 

Thus,  upon  the  whole,  contrary  experiments  produce 
an  imperfect  belief,  either  by  weakening  the  habit,  or 
by  dividing  and  afterwards  joining  in  different  parts,  that 
perfect  habit,  which  makes  us  conclude  in  general,  that 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  177 

instances,  of  which  we  have  no  experience,  must  neces- 
sarily resemble  those  of  which  we  have. 

To  justify  still  further  this  account  of  the  second 
species  of  probability,  where  we  reason  with  knowledge 
and  reflection  from  a  contrariety  of  past  experiments,  I 
shall  propose  the  following  considerations,  without  fear- 
ing to  give  offence  by  that  air  of  subtilty,  which  attends 
them.  Just  reasoning  ought  still,  perhaps,  to  retain  its 
force,  however  subtile ;  in  the  same  manner  as  matter 
preserves  its  solidity  in  the  air,  and  fire,  and  animal 
spirits,  as  well  as  in  the  grosser  and  more  sensible  forms. 

First,  we  may  observe,  that  there  is  no  probability  so 
great  as  not  to  allow  of  a  contrary  possibility ;  because 
otherwise  it  would  cease  to  be  a  probability,  and  would 
become  a  certainty.  That  probability  of  causes,  which 
is  most  extensive,  and  which  we  at  present  examine, 
depends  on  a  contrariety  of  experiments ;  and  it  is  evi- 
dent an  experiment  in  the  past  proves  at  least  a  possi- 
bility for  the  future. 

Secondly,  the  component  parts  of  this  possibility  and 
probability  are  of  the  same  nature,  and  differ  in  number 
only,  but  not  in  kind.  It  has  been  observed,  that  all 
single  chances  are  entirely  equal,  and  that  the  only  cir- 
cumstance, which  can  give  any  event  that  is  contingent 
a  superiority  over  another,  is  a  superior  number  of 
chances.  In  like  manner,  as  the  uncertainty  of  causes 
is  discovered  by  experience,  which  presents  us  with  a 
view  of  contrary  events,  it  is  plain  that,  when  we  trans- 
fer the  past  to  the  future,  the  known  to  the  unknown, 
every  past  experiment  has  the  same  weight,  and  that  it 
is  only  a  superior  number  of  them,  which  can  throw  the 
balance  on  any  side.  The  possibility,  therefore,  which 
enters  into  every  reasoning  of  this  kind,  is  composed  of 
parts,  which  are  of  the  same  nature  both  among  them- 

15* 


178  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

selves,  and  with  those  that  compose  the  opposite  proba- 
bility. 

Thirdly,  we  may  establish  it  as  a  certain  maxim,  that 
in  all  moral  as  well  as  natural  phenomena,  wherever  any 
cause  consists  of  a  number  of  parts,  and  the  effect 
increases  or  diminishes,  according  to  the  variation  of  that 
number,  the  effect,  properly  speaking,  is  a  compounded 
one,  and  arises  from  the  union  of  the  several  effects,  that 
proceed  from  each  part  of  the  cause.  Thus,  because  the 
gravity  of  a  body  increases  or  diminishes  by  the  increase 
or  diminution  of  its  parts,  we  conclude  that  each  part 
contains  this  quality,  and  contributes  to  the  gravity  of 
the  whole.  The  absence  or  presence  of  a  part  of  the 
cause  is  attended  with  that  of  a  proportionable  part  of 
the  effect.  This  connection  or  constant  conjunction 
sufficiently  proves  the  one  part  to  be  the  cause  of  the 
other.  As  the  belief,  which  wTe  have  of  any  event, 
increases  or  diminishes  according  to  the  number  of 
chances  or  past  experiments,  it  is  to  be  considered  as  a 
compounded  effect,  of  which  each  part  arises  from  a 
proportionable  number  of  chances  or  experiments. 

Let  us  now  join  these  three  observations,  and  see  what 
conclusion  we  can  draw  from  them.  To  every  proba- 
bility there  is  an  opposite  possibility.  This  possibility 
is  composed  of  parts  that  are  entirely  of  the  same  nature 
with  those  of  the  probability ;  and  consequently  have 
the  same  influence  on  the  mind  and  understanding.  The 
belief  which  attends  the  probability,  is  a  compounded 
effect,  and  is  formed  by  the  concurrence  of  the  several 
effects,  which  proceed  from  each  part  of  the  probability. 
Since,  therefore,  each  part  of  the  probability  contributes 
to  the  production  of  the  belief,  each  part  of  the  possi- 
bility must  have  the  same  influence  on  the  opposite  side ; 
the  nature  of  these  parts  being  entirely  the  same.     The 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  179 

contrary  belief  attending  the  possibility,  implies  a  view 
of  a  certain  object,  as  well  as  the  probability  does  an 
opposite  view.  In  this  particular,  both  these  degrees  of 
belief  are  alike.  The  only  manner  then,  in  which  the 
superior  number  of  similar  component  parts  in  the  one 
can  exert  its  influence,  and  prevail  above  the  inferior  in 
the  other,  is  by  producing  a  stronger  and  more  lively 
view  of  its  object.  Each  part  presents  a  particular  view ; 
and  all  these  views  uniting  together  produce  one  general 
view,  which  is  fuller  and  more  distinct  by  the  greater 
number  of  causes  or  principles  from  which  it  is  derived. 

The  component  parts  of  the  probability  and  possibility 
being  alike  in  their  nature,  must  produce  like  effects ; 
and  the  likeness  of  their  effects  consists  in  this,  that 
each  of  them  presents  a  view  of  a  particular  object. 
But  though  these  parts  be  alike  in  their  nature,  they  are 
very  different  in  their  quantity  and  number;  and  this 
difference  must  appear  in  the  effect  as  well  as  the  simi- 
larity. Now,  as  the  view  they  present  is  in  both  cases 
full  and  entire,  and  comprehends  the  object  in  all  its 
parts,  it  is  impossible  that,  in  this  particular,  there  can 
be  any  difference ;  nor  is  there  any  thing  but  a  superior 
vivacity  in  the  probability,  arising  from  the  concurrence 
of  a  superior  number  of  views,  which  can  distinguish 
these  effects. 

Here  is  almost  the  same  argument  in  a  different  light. 
All  our  reasonings  concerning  the  probability  of  causes 
are  founded  on  the  transferring  of  past  to  future.  The 
transferring  of  any  past  experiment  to  the  future  is 
sufficient  to  give  us  a  view  of  the  object ;  whether  that 
experiment  be  single  or  combined  with  others  of  the 
same  kind ;  whether  it  be  entire,  or  opposed  by  others 
of  a  contrary  kind.  Suppose  then  it  acquires  both  these 
qualities  of  combination  and  opposition,  it  loses  not, 


180  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

upon  that  account,  its  former  power  of  presenting  a 
view  of  the  object,  but  only  concurs  with  and  opposes 
other  experiments  that  have  a  like  influence.  A  ques- 
tion, therefore,  may  arise  concerning  the  manner  both  of 
the  concurrence  and  opposition.  As  to  the  concurrence 
there  is  only  the  choice  left  betwixt  these  two  hypothe- 
ses. First,  that  the  view  of  the  object,  occasioned  by 
the  transference  of  each  past  experiment,  preserves  itself 
entire,  and  only  multiplies  the  number  of  views.  Or, 
secondly r,  that  it  runs  into  the  other  similar  and  corre- 
spondent views,  and  gives  them  a  superior  degree  of  force 
and  vivacity.  But  that  the  first  hypothesis  is  erroneous, 
is  evident  from  experience,  which  informs  us,  that  the 
belief  attending  any  reasoning  consists  in  one  conclusion, 
not  in  a  multitude  of  similar  ones,  which  would  only 
distract  the  mind,  and,  in  many  cases,  would  be  too 
numerous  to  be  comprehended  distinctly  by  any  finite 
capacity.  It  remains,  therefore,  as  the  only  reasonable 
opinion,  that  these  similar  views  run  into  each  other  and 
unite  their  forces;  so  as  to  produce  a  stronger  and 
clearer  view  than  what  arises  from  any  one  alone.  This 
is  the  manner  in  which  past  experiments  concur  when 
they  are  transferred  to  any  future  event.  As  to  the 
manner  of  their  opposition,  it  is  evident  that,  as  the  con- 
trary views  are  incompatible  with  each  other,  and  it  is 
impossible  the  object  can  at  once  exist  conformable  to 
both  of  them,  their  influence  becomes  mutually  destruc- 
tive, and  the  mind  is  determined  to  the  superior  only 
with  that  force  which  remains  after  subtracting  the 
inferior. 

I  am  sensible  how  abstruse  all  this  reasoning  must 
appear  to  the  generality  of  readers,  who,  not  being 
accustomed  to  such  profound  reflections  on  the  intel- 
lectual faculties  of  the  mind,  will  be  apt  to  reject  as 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  181 

chimerical  whatever  strikes  not  in  with  the  common 
received  notions,  and  with  the  easiest  and  most  obvious 
principles  of  philosophy.  And,  no  doubt,  there  are  some 
pains  required  to  enter  into  these  arguments;  though 
perhaps  very  little  are  necessary  to  perceive  the  imper- 
fection of  every  vulgar  hypothesis  on  this  subject,  and 
the  little  light,  which  philosophy  can  yet  afford  us  in 
such  sublime  and  such  curious  speculations.  Let  men 
be  once  fully  persuaded  of  these  two  principles,  that  there  is 
nothing  in  any  object,  considered  in  itself,  which  can  afford  us 
a  reason  for  drawing  a  conclusion  beyond  it ;  and,  that  even 
after  the  observation  of  the  frequent  or  constant  conjunction  of 
objects,  ive  have  no  reason  to  draiv  any  inference  concerning  any 
object  beyond  those  of  tvhich  we  have  had  experience  ;  I  say, 
let  men  be  once  fully  convinced  of  these  two  principles, 
and  this  will  throw  thern  so  loose  from  all  common  sys- 
tems, that  they  will  make  no  difficulty  of  receiving  any, 
which  may  appear  the  most  extraordinary.  These  prin- 
ciples we  have  found  to  be  sufficiently  convincing,  even 
with  regard  to  our  most  certain  reasonings  from  causa- 
tion :  but  I  shall  venture  to  affirm,  that  with  regard  to 
these  conjectural  or  probable  reasonings  they  still  acquire 
a  new  degree  of  evidence. 

First,  it  is  obvious  that,  in  reasonings  of  this  kind,  it 
is  not  the  object  presented  to  us,  which,  considered  in 
itself,  affords  us  any  reason  to  draw  a  conclusion  con- 
cerning any  other  object  or  event.  For  as  this  latter 
object  is  supposed  uncertain,  and  as  the  uncertainty  is 
derived  from  a  concealed  contrariety  of  causes  in  the 
former,  were  any  of  the  causes  placed  in  the  known 
qualities  of  that  object,  they  would  no  longer  be  con- 
cealed, nor  would  our  conclusion  be  uncertain. 

But,  secondly,  it  is  equally  obvious  in  this  species  of 
reasoning,  that  if  the  transference  of  the  past  to  the 


182  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

future  were  founded  merely  on  a  conclusion  of  the  under- 
standing, it  could  never  occasion  any  belief  or  assurance. 
When  we  transfer  contrary  experiments  to  the  future, 
we  can  only  repeat  these  contrary  experiments  with 
their  particular  proportions;  which  could  not  produce 
assurance  in  any  single  event  upon  which  we  reason, 
unless  the  fancy  melted  together  all  those  images  that 
concur,  and  extracted  from  them  one  single  idea  or 
image,  which  is  intense  and  lively  in  proportion  to  the 
number  of  experiments  from  which  it  is  derived,  and 
their  superiority  above  their  antagonists.  Our  past 
experience  presents  no  determinate  object ;  and  as  our 
belief,  however  faint,  fixes  itself  on  a  determinate  object, 
it  is  evident  that  the  belief  arises  not  merely  from  the 
transference  of  past  to  future,  but  from  some  operation 
of  the  fancy  conjoined  with  it.  This  may  lead  us  to 
conceive  the  manner  in  which  that  faculty  enters  into 
all  our  reasonings. 

I  shall  conclude  this  subject  with  two  reflections 
which  may  deserve  our  attention.  The  first  may  be 
explained  after  this  manner :  When  the  mind  forms  a 
reasoning  concerning  any  matter  of  fact,  which  is  only 
probable,  it  casts  its  eye  backward  upon  past  experi- 
ence, and,  transferring  it  to  the  future,  is  presented  with 
so  many  contrary  views  of  its  object,  of  which  those  that 
are  of  the  same  kind  uniting  together  and  running  into 
one  act  of  the  mind,  serve  to  fortify  and  enliven  it.  But 
suppose  that  this  multitude  of  views  or  glimpses  of  an 
object  proceeds  not  from  experience,  but  from  a  volun- 
tary act  of  the  imagination ;  this  effect  does  not  follow, 
or,  at  least,  follows  not  in  the  same  degree.  For  though 
custom  and  education  produce  belief  by  such  a  repetition 
as  is  not  derived  from  experience,  yet  this  requires  a 
long   tract   of  time,  along   with   a  very  frequent   and 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  183 

undesigned  repetition.  In  general  we  may  pronounce, 
that  a  person,  who  would  voluntarily  repeat  any  idea  in 
his  mind,  though  supported  by  one  past  experience, 
would  be  no  more  inclined  to  believe  the  existence  of 
its  object,  than  if  he  had  contented  himself  with  one 
survey  of  it.  Beside  the  effect  of  design,  each  act  of  the 
mind,  being  separate  and  independent,  has  a  separate 
influence,  and  joins  not  its  force  with  that  of  its  fellows. 
Not  being  united  by  any  common  object  producing 
them,  they  have  no  relation  to  each  other ;  and  con- 
sequently make  no  transition  or  union  of  forces.  This 
phenomenon  we  shall  understand  better  afterwards. 

My  second  reflection  is  founded  on  those  large  proba- 
bilities which  the  mind  can  judge  of,  and  the  minute 
differences  it  can  observe  betwixt  them.  When  the 
chances  or  experiments  on  one  side  amount  to  ten 
thousand,  and  on  the  other  to  ten  thousand  and  one, 
the  judgment  gives  the  preference  to  the  latter  on 
account  of  that  superiority ;  though  it  is  plainly  impos- 
sible for  the  mind  to  run  over  every  particular  view,  and 
distinguish  the  superior  vivacity  of  the  image  arising 
from  the  superior  number,  where  the  difference  is  so 
inconsiderable.  We  have  a  parallel  instance  in  the 
affections.  It  is  evident,  according  to  the  principles 
above  mentioned,  that  when  an  object  produces  any 
passion  in  us,  which  varies  according  to  the  different 
quantity  of  the  object;  I  say,  it  is  evident,  that  the 
passion,  properly  speaking,  is  not  a  simple  emotion,  but 
a  compounded  one,  of  a  great  number  of  weaker  pas- 
sions, derived  from  a  view  of  each  part  of  the  object ;  for 
otherwise  it  were  impossible  the  passion  should  increase 
by  the  increase  of  these  parts.  Thus,  a  man  who  desires 
a  thousand  pounds  has,  in  reality,  a  thousand  or  more 
desires,  which,  uniting  together,  seem  to  make  only  one 


184  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

passion ;  though  the  composition  evidently  betrays  itself 
upon  every  alteration  of  the  object,  by  the  preference 
he  gives  to  the  larger  number,  if  superior  only  by  an 
unit.  Yet  nothing  can  be  more  certain,  than  that  so 
small  a  difference  would  not  be  discernible  in  the  pas- 
sions, nor  could  render  them  distinguishable  from  each 
other.  The  difference,  therefore,  of  our  conduct  in  pre- 
ferring the  greater  number  depends  not  upon  our  pas- 
sions, but  upon  custom  and  general  rides.  We  have  found 
in  a  multitude  of  instances  that  the  augmenting  the 
numbers  of  any  sum  augments  the  passion,  where  the 
numbers  are  precise  and  the  difference  sensible.  The 
mind  can  perceive,  from  its  immediate  feeling,  that 
three  guineas  produce  a  greater  passion  than  two  ;  and 
this  it  transfers  to  larger  numbers,  because  of  the  resem- 
blance; and  by  a  general  rule  assigns  to  a  thousand 
guineas  a  stronger  passion  than  to  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-nine.  These  general  rules  we  shall  explain 
presently. 

But  beside  these  two  species  of  probability,  which  are 
derived  from  an  imperfect  experience  and  from  contrary 
causes,  there  is  a  third  arising  from  analogy r,  which  differs 
from  them  in  some  material  circumstances.  According 
to  the  hypothesis  above  explained,  all  kinds  of  reasoning 
from  causes  or  effects  are  founded  on  two  particulars, 
viz.  the  constant  conjunction  of  any  two  objects  in  all 
past  experience,  and  the  resemblance  of  a  present  object 
to  any  one  of  them.  The  effect  of  these  two  particulars 
is,  that  the  present  object  invigorates  and  enlivens  the 
imagination ;  and  the  resemblance,  along  with  the  con- 
stant union,  conveys  this  force  and  vivacity  to  the 
related  idea ;  which  we  are  therefore  said  to  believe  or 
assent  to.  If  you  weaken  either  the  union  or  resem- 
blance, you  weaken  the  principle  of  transition,  and  of 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  185 

consequence  that  belief  which  arises  from  it.  The 
vivacity  of  the  first  impression  cannot  be  fully  conveyed 
to  the  related  idea,  either  where  the  conjunction  of  their 
objects  is  not  constant,  or  where  the  present  impression 
does  not  perfectly  resemble  any  of  those  whose  union 
we  are  accustomed  to  observe.  In  those  probabilities  of 
chance  and  causes  above  explained,  it  is  the  constancy 
of  the  union  which  is  diminished;  and  in  the  proba- 
bility derived  from  analogy,  it  is  the  resemblance  only 
which  is  affected.  Without  some  degree  of  resemblance, 
as  well  as  union,  it  is  impossible  there  can  be  any  rea- 
soning. But  as  this  resemblance  admits  of  many  differ- 
ent degrees,  the  reasoning  becomes  proportionally  more 
or  less  firm  and  certain.  An  experiment  loses  of  its 
force,  when  transferred  to  instances  which  are  not 
exactly  resembling ;  though  it  is  evident  it  may  still 
retain  as  much  as  may  be  the  foundation  of  probability, 
as  long  as  there  is  any  resemblance  remaining. 


SECTION   XIII. 

OF   UNPHIL0S0PHICAL   PROBABILITY. 

All  these  kinds  of  probability  are  received  by  philoso- 
phers, and  allowed  to  be  reasonable  foundations  of  belief 
and  opinion.  But  there  are  others  that  are  derived  from 
the  same  principles,  though  they  have  not  had  the  good 
fortune  to  obtain  the  same  sanction.  The  first  probabil- 
ity of  this  kind  may  be  accounted  for  thus.  The  dimi- 
nution of  the  union  and  of  the  resemblance,  as  above 
explained,  diminishes  the  facility  of  the  transition,  and 
by  that  means  weakens  the  evidence;  and  we  may 
further  observe,  that  the  same  diminution  of  the  evi- 

vol.  i.  16 


186  OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

dence  will  follow  from  a  diminution  of  the  impression, 
and  from  the  shading  of  those  colors  under  which  it 
appears  to  the  memory  or  senses.  The  argument  which 
we  found  on  any  matter  of  fact  we  remember  is  more 
or  less  convincing,  according  as  the  fact  is  recent  or 
remote ;  and  though  the  difference  in  these  degrees  of 
evidence  be  not  received  by  philosophy  as  solid  and 
legitimate ;  because  in  that  case  an  argument  must  have 
a  different  force  to-day  from  what  it  shall  have  a  month 
hence ;  yet,  notwithstanding  the  opposition  of  philoso- 
phy, it  is  certain  this  circumstance  has  a  considerable 
influence  on  the  understanding,  and  secretly  changes  the 
authority  of  the  same  argument,  according  to  the  differ- 
ent times  in  which  it  is  proposed  to  us.  A  greater  force 
and  vivacity  in  the  impression  naturally  conveys  a 
greater  to  the  related  idea ;  and  it  is  on  the  degrees  of 
force  and  vivacity  that  the  belief  depends,  according  to 
the  foregoing  system. 

There  is  a  second  difference  which  we  may  frequently 
observe  in  our  degrees  of  belief  and  assurance,  and. 
which  never  fails  to  take  place,  though  disclaimed  by 
philosophers.  An  experiment  that  is  recent  and  fresh 
in  the  memory,  affects  us  more  than  one  that  is  in  some 
measure  obliterated ;  and  has  a  superior  influence  on 
the  judgment  as  well  as  on  the  passions.  A  lively  im- 
pression produces  more  assurance  than  a  faint  one,  be- 
cause it  has  more  original  force  to  communicate  to  the 
related  idea,  which  thereby  acquires  a  greater  force  and 
vivacity.  A  recent  observation  has  a  like  effect;  be- 
cause the  custom  and  transition  is  there  more  entire, 
and  preserves  better  the  original  force  in  the  communi- 
cation. Thus  a  drunkard,  who  has  seen  his  companion 
die  of  a  debauch,  is  struck  with  that  instance  for  some 
time,  and  dreads  a  like  accident  for  himself;  but  as  the 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  187 

memory  of  it  decays  away  by  degrees,  his  former  secu- 
rity returns,  and  the  danger  seems  less  certain  and  real. 

I  add,  as  a  third  instance  of  this  kind,  that  though  our 
reasonings  from  proofs  and  from  probabilities  be  consid- 
erably different  from  each  other,  yet  the  former  species 
of  reasoning  often  degenerates  insensibly  into  the  latter, 
by  nothing  but  the  multitude  of  connected  arguments. 
It  is  certain,  that  when  an  inference  is  drawn  imme- 
diately from  an  object,  without  any  intermediate  cause 
or  effect,  the  conviction  is  much  stronger,  and  the  per- 
suasion more  lively,  than  when  the  imagination  is  carried 
through  a  long  chain  of  connected  arguments,  however 
infallible  the  connection  of  each  link  may  be  esteemed. 
It  is  from  the  original  impression  that  the  vivacity  of 
all  the  ideas  is  derived,  by  means  of  the  customary 
transition  of  the  imagination;  and  it  is  evident  this 
vivacity  must  gradually  decay  in  proportion  to  the  dis- 
tance, and  must  lose  somewhat  in  each  transition.  Some- 
times this  distance  has  a  greater  influence  than  even  con- 
trary experiments  would  have  ;  and  a  man  may  receive 
a  more  lively  conviction  from  a  probable  reasoning 
which  is  close  and  immediate,  than  from  a  long  chain  of 
consequences,  though  just  and  conclusive  in  each  part. 
Nay,  it  is  seldom  such  reasonings  produce  any  convic- 
tion ;  and  one  must  have  a  very  strong  and  firm  imagi- 
nation to  preserve  the  evidence  to  the  end,  where  it 
passes  through  so  many  stages. 

But  here  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  remark  a  very  curi- 
ous phenomenon  which  the  present  subject  suggests  to 
us.  It  is  evident  there  is  no  point  of  ancient  history,  of 
which  we  can  have  any  assurance,  but  by  passing 
through  many  millions  of  causes  and  effects,  and  through 
a  chain  of  arguments  of  almost  an  immeasurable  length. 
Before  the  knowledge  of  the  fact  could  come  to  the  first 


188  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

historian,  it  must  be  conveyed  through  many  mouths ; 
and  after  it  is  committed  to  writing,  each  new  copy  is  a 
new  object,  of  which  the  connection  with  the  foregoing 
is  known  only  by  experience  and  observation.  Perhaps 
therefore  it  may  be  concluded,  from  the  precedent  rea- 
soning, that  the  evidence  of  all  ancient  history  must 
now  be  lost,  or  at  least  will  be  lost  in  time,  as  the  chain 
of  causes  increases,  and  runs  on  to  a  greater  length. 
But- as  it  seems  contrary  to  common  sense  to  think,  that 
if  the  republic  of  letters  and  the  art  of  printing  con- 
tinue on  the  same  footing  as  at  present,  our  posterity, 
even  after  a  thousand  ages,  can  ever  doubt  if  there  has 
been  such  a  man  as  Julius  Caesar ;  this  may  be  consid- 
ered as  an  objection  to  the  present  system.  If  belief 
consisted  only  in  a  certain  vivacity,  conveyed  from  an 
original  impression,  it  would  decay  by  the  length  of  the 
transition,  and  must  at  last  be  utterly  extinguished. 
And,  vice  versa,  if  belief,  on  some  occasions,  be  not  capa- 
ble of  such  an  extinction,  it  must  be  something  different 
from  that  vivacity. 

Before  I  answer  this  objection  I  shall  observe,  that 
from  this  topic  there  has  been  borrowed  a  very  cele- 
brated argument  against  the  Christian  Religion;  but  with 
this  difference,  that  the  connection  betwixt  each  link  of 
the  chain  in  human  testimony  has  been  there  supposed 
not  to  go  beyond  probability,  and  to  be  liable  to  a 
degree  of  doubt  and  uncertainty.  And  indeed  it  must 
be  confessed,  that  in  this  manner  of  considering  the  sub- 
ject (which,  however,  is  not  a  true  one),  there  is  no  his- 
tory or  tradition  but  what  must  in  the  end  lose  all  its 
force  and  'evidence.  Every  new  probability  diminishes 
the  original  conviction ;  and,  however  great  that  convic- 
tion may  be  supposed,  it  is  impossible  it  can  subsist 
under  such  reiterated  diminutions.     This  is  true  in  gen- 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  189 

eral,  though  we  shall  find  afterwards,*  that  there  is  one 
very  memorable  exception,  which  is  of  vast  consequence 
in  the  present  subject  of  the  understanding. 

Meanwhile,  to  give  a  solution  of  the  preceding  ob- 
jection upon  the  supposition  that  historical  evidence 
amounts  at  first  to  an  entire  proof,  let  us  consider,  that, 
though  the  links  are  innumerable  that  connect  any 
original  fact  with  the  present  impression,  which  is  the 
foundation  of  belief,  yet  they  are  all  of  the  same  kind, 
and  depend  on  the  fidelity  of  printers  and  copyists.  One 
edition  passes  into  another,  and  that  into  a  third,  and  so 
on,  till  we  come  to  that  volume  we  peruse  at  present. 
There  is  no  variation  in  the  steps.  After  we  know  one, 
we  know  all  of  them ;  and  after  we  have  made  one,  we 
can  have  no  scruple  as  to  the  rest.  This  circumstance 
alone  preserves  the  evidence  of  history,  and  will  perpet- 
uate the  memory  of  the  present  age  to  the  latest  pos- 
terity. If  all  the  long  chain  of  causes  and  effects,  which 
connect  any  past  event  with  any  volume  of  history, 
were  composed  of  parts  different  from  each  other,  and 
which  it  were  necessary  for  the  mind  distinctly  to  con- 
ceive, it  is  impossible  we  should  preserve  to  the  end  any 
belief  or  evidence.  But  as  most  of  these  proofs  are  per- 
fectly resembling,  the  mind  runs  easily  along  them, 
jumps  from  one  part  to  another  with  facility,  and  forms 
but  a  confused  and  general  notion  of  each  link.  By  this 
means,  a  long  chain  of  argument  has  as  little  effect  in 
diminishing  the  original  vivacity,  as  a  much  shorter 
would  have  if  composed  of  parts  which  were  different 
from  each  other,  and  of  which  each  required  a  distinct 
consideration. 

A  fourth  unphilosophical  species  of  probability  is  that 

*  Part  IV.  Sect.  1. 

16* 


190  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

derived  from  general  rules,  which  we  rashly  form  to  our- 
selves, and  which  are  the  source  of  what  we  properly 
call  prejudice.  An  Irishman  cannot  have  wit,  and  a 
Frenchman  cannot  have  solidity;  for  which  reason, 
though  the  conversation  of  the  former  in  any  instance 
be  visibly  very  agreeable,  and  of  the  latter  very  judi- 
cious, we  have  entertained  such  a  prejudice  against 
them,  that  they  must  be  dunces  or  fops  in  spite  of  sense 
and  reason.  Human  nature  is  very  subject  to  errors  of 
this  kind,  and  perhaps  this  nation  as  much  as  any  other. 
Should  it  be  demanded  why  men  form  general  rules, 
and  allow  them  to  influence  their  judgment,  even  con- 
trary to  present  observation  and  experience,  I  should 
reply,  that  in  my  opinion  it  proceeds  from  those  very 
principles  on  which  all  judgments  concerning  causes  and 
effects  depend.  Our  judgments  concerning  cause  and 
effect  are  derived  from  habit  and  experience ;  and  when 
we  have  been  accustomed  to  see  one  object  united  to 
another,  our  imagination  passes  from  the  first  to  the 
second  by  a  natural  transition,  which  precedes  reflection, 
and  which  cannot  be  prevented  by  it.  Now,  it  is  the 
nature  of  custom  not  only  to  operate  with  its  full  force, 
when  objects  are  presented  that  are  exactly  the  same 
with  those  to  which  we  have  been  accustomed,  but  also 
to  operate  in  an  inferior  degree  when  we  discover  such 
as  are  similar ;  and  though  the  habit  loses  somewhat  of 
its  force  by  every  difference,  yet  it  is  seldom  entirely 
destroyed  where  any  considerable  circumstances  remain 
the  same.  A  man  who  has  contracted  a  custom  of  eat- 
ing fruit  by  the  use  of  pears  or  peaches,  will  satisfy  him- 
self with  melons  where  he  cannot  find  his  favorite  fruit ; 
as  one,  who  has  become  a  drunkard  by  the  use  of  red 
wines,  will  be  carried  almost  with  the  same  violence  to 
white,  if  presented  to  him.     From  this  principle  I  have 


OF  THE   UNDERSTANDING.  191 

accounted  for  that  species  of  probability,  derived  from 
analogy,  where  we  transfer  our  experience  in  past 
instances  to  objects  which  are  resembling,  but  are  not 
exactly  the  same  with  those  concerning  which  we  have 
had  experience.  In  proportion  as  the  resemblance  de- 
cays, the  probability  diminishes,  but  still  has  some  force 
as  long  as  there  remain  any  traces  of  the  resemblance. 

This  observation  we  may  carry  further,  and  may 
remark,  that  though  custom  be  the  foundation  of  all  our 
judgments,  yet  sometimes  it  has  an  effect  on  the  imagi- 
nation in  opposition  to  the  judgment,  and  produces  a 
contrariety  in  our  sentiments  concerning  the  same  object. 
I  explain  myself.  In  almost  all  kinds  of  causes  there  is 
a  complication  of  circumstances,  of  which  some  are 
essential,  and  others  superfluous;  some  are  absolutely 
requisite  to  the  production  of  the  effect,  and  others  are 
only  conjoined  by  accident.  Now  we  may  observe,  that 
when  these  superfluous  circumstances  are  numerous  and 
remarkable,  and  frequently  conjoined  with  the  essential, 
they  have  such  an  influence  on  the  imagination,  that 
even  in  the  absence  of  the  latter  they  carry  us  on  to 
the  conception  of  the  usual  effect,  and  give  to  that  con- 
ception a  force  and  vivacity  which  make  it  superior  to 
the  mere  fictions  of  the  fancy.  We  may  correct  this 
propensity  by  a  reflection  on  the  nature  of  those  circum- 
stances ;  but  it  is  still  certain,  that  custom  takes  the 
start,  and  gives  a  bias  to  the  imagination. 

To  illustrate  this  by  a  familiar  instance,  let  us  consider 
the  case  of  a  man,  who,  being  hung  out  from  a  high 
tower  in  a  cage  of  iron,  cannot  forbear  trembling  when 
he  surveys  the  precipice  below  him,  though  he  knows 
himself  to  be  perfectly  secure  from  falling,  by  his  expe- 
rience of  the  solidity  of  the  iron  which  supports  him, 
and  though  the  ideas  of  fall  and  descent,  and  harm  and 


192  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

death,  be  derived  solely  from  custom  and  experience. 
The  same  custom  goes  beyond  the  instances  from  which 
it  is  derived,  and  to  which  it  perfectly  corresponds ;  and 
influences  his  ideas  of  such  objects  as  are  in  some  respect 
resembling,  but  fall  not  precisely  under  the  same  rule. 
The  circumstances  of  depth  and  descent  strike  so 
strongly  upon  him,  that  their  influence  cannot  be  de- 
stroyed by  the  contrary  circumstances  of  support  and 
solidity,  which  ought  to  give  him  a  perfect  security.  His 
imagination  runs  away  with  its  object,  and  excites  a 
passion  proportioned  to  it.  That  passion  returns  back 
upon  the  imagination,  and  enlivens  the  idea;  which 
lively  idea  has  a  new  influence  on  the  passion,  and  in  its 
turn  augments  its  force  and  violence  ;  and  both  his  fancy 
and  affections,  thus  mutually  supporting  each  other, 
cause  the  whole  to  have  a  very  great  influence  upon 
him. 

But  why  need  we  seek  for  other  instances,  while  the 
present  subject  of  philosophical  probabilities  offers  us 
so  obvious  a  one,  in  the  opposition  betwixt  the  judg- 
ment and  imagination,  arising  from  these  effects  of  cus- 
tom? According  to  my  system,  all  reasonings  are 
nothing  but  the  effects  of  custom,  and  custom  has  no 
influence,  but  by  enlivening  the  imagination,  and  giving 
us  a  strong  conception  of  any  object.  It  may  therefore 
be  concluded,  that  our  judgment  and  imagination  can 
never  be  contrary,  and  that  custom  cannot  operate  on 
the  latter  faculty  after  such  a  manner,  as  to  render  it 
opposite  to  the  former.  This  difficulty  we  can  remove 
after  no  other  manner,  than  by  supposing  the  influence 
of  general  rules.  We  shall  afterwards  *  take  notice  of 
some  general  rules,  by  which  we  ought  to  regulate  our 

*  Sec.  15. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  193 

judgment  concerning  causes  and  effects ;  and  these  rules 
are  formed  on  the  nature  of  our  understanding,  and  on 
our  experience  of  its  operations  in  the  judgments  we 
form  concerning  objects.  By  them  we  learn  to  distin- 
guish the  accidental  circumstances  from  the  efficacious 
causes ;  and  when  we  find  that  an  effect  can  be  produced 
without  the  concurrence  of  any  particular  circumstance, 
we  conclude  that  that  circumstance  makes  not  a  part  of 
the  efficacious  cause,  however  frequently  conjoined  with 
it.  But  as  this  frequent  conjunction  necessarily  makes 
it  have  some  effect  on  the  imagination,  in  spite  of  the 
opposite  conclusion  from  general  rules,  the  opposition  of 
these  two  principles  produces  a  contrariety  in  our 
thoughts,  and  causes  us  to  ascribe  the  one  inference  to 
our  judgment,  and  the  other  to  our  imagination.  The 
general  rule  is  attributed  to  our  judgment,  as  being  more 
extensive  and  constant ;  the  exception  to  the  imagina- 
tion, as  being  more  capricious  and  uncertain. 

Thus,  our  general  rules  are  in  a  manner  set  in  oppo- 
sition to  each  other.  When  an  object  appears,  that 
resembles  any  cause  in  very  considerable  circumstances, 
the  imagination  naturally  carries  us  to  a  lively  concep- 
tion of  the  usual  effect,  though  the  object  be  different 
in  the  most  material  and  most  efficacious  circumstances 
from  that  cause.  Here  is  the  first  influence  of  general 
rules.  But  when  we  take  a  review  of  this  act  of  the 
mind,  and  compare  it  with  the  more  general  and  authen- 
tic operations  of  the  understanding,  we  find  it  to  be  of 
an  irregular  nature,  and  destructive  of  all  the  most 
established  principles  of  reasonings,  which  is  the  cause 
of  our  rejecting  it.  This  is  a  second  influence  of  general 
rules,  and  implies  the  condemnation  of  the  former. 
Sometimes  the  one,  sometimes  the  other  prevails,  accord- 
ing to  the  disposition  and  character  of  the  person.     The 


194  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

vulgar  are  commonly  guided  by  the  first,  and  wise  men 
by  the  second.  Meanwhile  the  sceptics  may  here  have 
the  pleasure  of  observing  a  new  and  signal  contradiction 
in  our  reason,  and  of  seeing  all  philosophy  ready  to  be 
subverted  by  a  principle  of  human  nature,  and  again 
saved  by  a  new  direction  of  the  very  same  principle. 
The  following  of  general  rules  is  a  very  unphilosophical 
species  of  probability  5  and  yet  it  is  only  by  following 
them  that  we  can  correct  this,  and  all  other  unphilo- 
sophical probabilities. 

Since  we  have  instances  where  general  rules  operate 
on  the  imagination,  even  contrary  to  the  judgment,  we 
need  not  be  surprised  to  see  their  effects  increase,  when 
conjoined  with  that  latter  faculty,  and  to  observe  that 
they  bestow  on  the  ideas  they  present  to  us  a  force 
superior  to  what  attends  any  other.  Every  one  knows 
there  is  an  indirect  manner  of  insinuating  praise  or 
blame,  which  is  much  less  shocking  than  the  open  flat- 
tery or  censure  of  any  person.  However  he  may 
communicate  his  sentiments  by  such  secret  insinuations, 
and  make  them  known  with  equal  certainty  as  by  the 
open  discovery  of  them,  it  is  certain  that  their  influence 
is  not  equally  strong  and  powerful.  One  who  lashes  me 
with  concealed  strokes  of  satire,  moves  not  my  indigna- 
tion to  such  a  degree,  as  if  he  flatly  told  me  I  was  a  fool 
and  a  coxcomb ;  though  I  equally  understand  his  mean- 
ing, as  if  he  did.  This  difference  is  to  be  attributed  to 
the  influence  of  general  rules. 

Whether  a  person  openly  abuses  me,  or  slily  intimates 
his  contempt,  in  neither  case  do  I  immediately  perceive 
his  sentiment  or  opinion;  and  it  is  only  by  signs,  that  is, 
by  its  effects,  I  become  sensible  of  it.  The  only  differ- 
ence then,  betwixt  these  two  cases,  consists  in  this,  that 
in  the  open  discovery  of  his  sentiments  he  makes  use  of 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  195 

signs,  which  are  general  and  universal ;  and  in  the  secret 
intimation  employs  such  as  are  more  singular  and  un- 
common. The  effect  of  this  circumstance  is,  that  the 
imagination,  in  running  from  the  present  impression  to 
the  absent  idea,  makes  the  transition  with  greater  facil- 
ity, and  consequently  conceives  the  object  with  greater 
force,  where  the  connection  is  common  and  universal, 
than  where  it  is  more  rare  and  particular.  Accordingly, 
we  may  observe,  that  the  open  declaration  of  our  senti- 
ments is  called  the  taking  off  the  mask,  as  the  secret  in- 
timation of  our  opinions  is  said  to  be  the  veiling  of  them. 
The  difference  betwixt  an  idea  produced  by  a  general 
connection,  and  that  arising  from  a  particular  one,  is  here 
compared  to  the  difference  betwixt  an  impression  and 
an  idea.  This  difference  in  the  imagination  has  a  suita- 
ble effect  on  the  passions,  and  this  effect  is  augmented 
by  another  circumstance.  A  secret  intimation  of  anger 
or  contempt  shows  that  we  still  have  some  consideration 
for  the  person,  and  avoid  the  directly  abusing  him.  This 
makes  a  concealed  satire  less  disagreeable,  but  still  this 
depends  on  the  same  principle.  For  if  an  idea  were  not 
more  feeble,  when  only  intimated,  it  would  never  be 
esteemed  a  mark  of  greater  respect  to  proceed  in  this 
method  than  in  the  other. 

Sometimes  scurrility  is  less  displeasing  than  delicate 
satire,  because  it  revenges  us  in  a  manner  for  the  injury 
at  the  very  time  it  is  committed,  by  affording  us  a  just 
reason  to  blame  and  contemn  the  person  who  injures  us. 
But  this  phenomenon  likewise  depends  upon  the  same 
principle.  For  why  do  we  blame  all  gross  and  injurious 
language,  unless  it  be,  because  we  esteem  it  contrary  to 
good  breeding  and  humanity  ?  And  why  is  it  contrary, 
unless  it  be  more  shocking  than  any  delicate  satire? 
The  rules  of  good  breeding  condemn  whatever  is  openly 


196  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

disobliging,  and  gives  a  sensible  pain  and  confusion  to 
those  with  whom  we  converse.  After  this  is  once  estab- 
lished, abusive  language  is  universally  blamed,  and  gives 
less  pain  upon  account  of  its  coarseness  and  incivility, 
which  render  the  person  despicable  that  employs  it.  It 
becomes  less  disagreeable,  merely  because  originally  it  is 
more  so  ;  and  it  is  more  disagreeable,  because  it  affords 
an  inference  by  general  and  common  rules  that  are  pal- 
pable and  undeniable. 

To  this  explication  of  the  different  influence  of  open 
and  concealed  flattery  or  satire,  I  shall  add  the  consider- 
ation of  another  phenomenon,  which  is  analogous  to  it. 
There  are  many  particulars  in  the  point  of  honor,  both 
of  men  and  women,  whose  violations,  when  open  and 
avowed,  the  world  never  excuses,  but  which  it  is  more 
apt  to  overlook,  when  the  appearances  are  saved,  and  the 
transgression  is  secret  and  concealed.  Even  those  who 
know  with  equal  certainty  that  the  fault  is  committed, 
pardon  it  more  easily,  when  the  proofs  seem  in  some 
measure  oblique  and  equivocal,  than  when  they  are 
direct  and  undeniable.  The  same  idea  is  presented  in 
both  cases,  and,  properly  speaking,  is  equally  assented  to 
by  the  judgment;  and  yet  its  influence  is  different,  be- 
cause of  the  different  manner  in  which  it  is  presented. 

Now,  if  we  compare  these  two  cases,  of  the  open  and 
concealed  violations  of  the  laws  of  honor,  we  shall  find, 
that  the  difference  betwixt  them  consists  in  this,  that  in 
the  first  case  the  sign,  from  which  we  infer  the  blama- 
ble  action,  is  single,  and  suffices  alone  to  be  the  founda- 
tion of  our  reasoning  and  judgment ;  whereas  in  the  lat- 
ter the  signs  are  numerous,  and  decide  little  or  nothing 
when  alone  and  unaccompanied  with  many  minute  cir- 
cumstances, which  are  almost  imperceptible.  But  it  is 
certainly  true,  that  any  reasoning  is  always  the  more 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  197 

convincing,  the  more  single  and  united  it  is  to  the  eye, 
and  the  less  exercise  it  gives  to  the  imagination  to  col- 
lect all  its  parts,  and  run  from  them  to  the  correlative 
idea,  which  forms  the  conclusion.  The  labor  of  the 
thoughts  disturbs  the  regular  progress  of  the  sentiments, 
as  we  shall  observe  presently*  The  idea  strikes  not  on 
us  with  such  vivacity,  and  consequently  has  no  such  in- 
fluence on  the  passion  and  imagination. 

From  the  same  principles  we  may  account  for  those 
observations  of  the  Cardinal  de  Ketz,  that  there  are  many 
things  in  tvhich  the  tvorld  ivishes  to  be  deceived,  and  that  it  more 
easily  excuses  a  person  in  acting  than  in  talking  contrary  to  the 
decorum  of  his  profession  and  character.  A  fault  in  words 
is  commonly  more  open  and  distinct  that  one  in  actions, 
which  admit  of  many  palliating  excuses,  and  decide  not 
so  clearly  concerning  the  attention  and  views  of  the 
actor. 

Thus  it  appears,  upon  the  whole,  that  every  kind  of 
opinion  or  judgment  which  amounts  not  to  knowledge, 
is  derived  entirely  from  the  force  and  vivacity  of  the 
perception,  and  that  these  qualities  constitute  in  the 
mind  what  we  call  the  belief  of  the  existence  of  any 
object.  This  force  and  this  vivacity  are  most  conspicu- 
ous in  the  memory ;  and  therefore  our  confidence  in  the 
veracity  of  that  faculty  is  the  greatest  imaginable,  and 
equals  in  many  respects  the  assurance  of  a  demonstra- 
tion. The  next  degree  of  these  qualities  is  that  derived 
from  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect ;  and  this  too  is 
very  great,  especially  when  the  conjunction  is  found  by 
experience  to  be  perfectly  constant,  and  when  the  object, 
which  is  present  to  us,  exactly  resembles  those,  of  which 
we  have  had  experience.     But  below  this  degree  of  evi- 

*  Part  IV.  Seet.  1. 
VOL.   I.  17 


198  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

dence  there  are  many  others,  which  have  an  influence 
on  the  passions  and  imagination,  proportioned  to  that 
degree  of  force  and  vivacity,  which  they  communicate 
to  the  ideas.  It  is  by  habit  we  make  the  transition  from 
cause  to  effect ;  and  it  is  from  some  present  impression 
we  borrow  that  vivacity,  which  we  diffuse  over  the  cor- 
relative idea.  But  when  we  have  not  observed  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  instances  to  produce  a  strong  habit ;  or 
when  these  instances  are  contrary  to  each  other;  or 
when  the  resemblance  is  not  exact ;  or  the  present  im- 
pression is  faint  and  obscure  ;  or  the  experience  in  some 
measure  obliterated  from  the  memory ;  or  the  connec- 
tion dependent  on  a  long  chain  of  objects ;  or  the  infer- 
ence derived  from  general  rules,  and  yet  not  conforma- 
ble to  them :  in  all  these  cases  the  evidence  diminishes 
by  the  diminution  of  the  force  and  intenseness  of  the 
idea.  This  therefore  is  the  nature  of  the  judgment  and 
probability. 

What  principally  gives  authority  to  this  system  is, 
beside  the  undoubted  arguments,  upon  which  each  part 
is  founded,  the  agreement  of  these  parts,  and  the  neces- 
sity of  one  to  explain  another.  The  belief  wThich  attends 
our  memory  is  of  the  same  nature  with  that  which  is 
derived  from  our  judgments  :  nor  is  there  any  difference 
betwixt  that  judgment  which  is  derived  from  a  constant 
and  uniform  connection  of  causes  and  effects,  and  that 
which  depends  upon  an  interrupted  and  uncertain.  It 
is  indeed  evident,  that  in  all  determinations  where  the 
mind  decides  from  contrary  experiments,  it  is  first 
divided  within  itself,  and  has  an  inclination  to  either 
side  in  proportion  to  the  number  of  experiments  we 
have  seen  and  remember.  This  contest  is  at  last  deter- 
mined to  the  advantage  of  that  side  where  we  observe  a 
superior  number  of  these  experiments;  but  still  with  a 


OF   THE  UNDERSTANDING.  199 

diminution  of  force  in  the  evidence  correspondent  to  the 
number  of  the  opposite  experiments.  Each  possibility, 
of  which  the  probability  is  composed,  operates  separately 
upon  the  imagination  ;  and  it  is  the  larger  collection  of 
possibilities,  which  at  last  prevails,  and  that  with  a  force 
proportionable  to  its  superiority.  All  these  phenom- 
ena lead  directly  to  the  precedent  system ;  nor  will  it 
ever  be  possible  upon  any  other  principles  to  give  a  sat- 
isfactory and  consistent  explication  of  them.  Without 
considering  these  judgments  as  the  effects  of  custom  on 
the  imagination,  we  shall  lose  ourselves  in  perpetual  con- 
tradiction and  absurdity. 


SECTION   XIV. 

OF  THE   IDEA   OF   NECESSARY   CONNECTION. 

Having  thus  explained  the  manner  in  which  we  reason 
beyond  our  immediate  impressions,  and  conclude  that  such  par- 
ticular causes  must  have  such  particular  effects ;  we  must 
now  return  upon  our  footsteps  to  examine  that  question  * 
which  first  occurred  to  us,  and  which  we  dropped  in  our 
way,  viz.  What  is  our  idea  of  necessity r,  ivhen  tve  say  that 
two  objects  are  necessarily  connected  together?  Upon  this 
head  I  repeat,  what  I  have  often  had  occasion  to  observe, 
that  as  we  have  no  idea  that  is  not  derived  from  an 
impression,  we  must  find  some  impression  that  gives  rise 
to  this  idea  of  necessity,  if  we  assert  we  have  really 
such  an  idea.  In  order  to  this,  I  consider  in  what 
objects  necessity  is  commonly  supposed  to  lie ;  and,  find- 
ing that  it  is  always  ascribed  to  causes  and  effects,  I 

*  Sect.  2. 


200  OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

turn  my  eye  to  two  objects  supposed  to  be  placed  in 
that  relation,  and  examine  them  in  all  the  situations  of 
which  they  are  susceptible.  I  immediately  perceive 
that  they  are  contiguous  in  time  and  place,  and  that  the 
object  we  call  cause  precedes  the  other  we  call  effect.  In 
no  one  instance  can  I  go  any  further,  nor  is  it  possible 
for  me  to  discover  any  third  relation  betwixt  these 
objects.  I  therefore  enlarge  my  view  to  comprehend 
several  instances,  wThere  I  find  like  objects  always  exist- 
ing in  like  relations  of  contiguity  and  succession.  At 
first  sight  this  seems  to  serve  but  little  to  my  purpose. 
The  reflection  on  several  instances  only  repeats  the  same 
objects ;  and  therefore  can  never  give  rise  to  a  new  idea. 
But  upon  further  inquiry  I  find,  that  the  repetition  is 
not  in  every  particular  the  same,  but  produces  a  new 
impression,  and  by  that  means  the  idea  which  I  at  pres- 
ent examine.  For  after  a  frequent  repetition  I  find, 
that  upon  the  appearance  of  one  of  the  objects,  the  mind 
is  determined  by  custom  to  consider  its  usual  attendant, 
and  to  consider  it  in  a  stronger  light  upon  account  of  its 
v  \  relation  to  the  first  object.  It  is  this  impression,  then, 
\  *  or  determination,  which  affords  me  the  idea  of  necessity. 
I  doubt  not  but  these  consequences  will  at  first  sight 
be  received  without  difficulty,  as  being  evident  deduc- 
tions from  principles  which  we  have  already  established, 
and  which  we  have  often  employed  in  our  reasonings. 
This  evidence,  both  in  the  first  principles  and  in  the 
deductions,  may  seduce  us  unwarily  into  the  conclusion, 
and  make  us  imagine  it  contains  nothing  extraordinary, 
nor  worthy  of  our  curiosity.  But  though  such  an  inad- 
vertence may  facilitate  the  reception  of  this  reasoning, 
it  will  make  it  be  the  more  easily  forgot;  for  which 
reason  I  think  it  proper  to  give  warning,  that  I  have 
just  now  examined  one  of  the  most  sublime  questions 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  201 

in  philosophy,  viz.  that  concerning  the  poiver  and  efficacy  of 
causes  where  all  the  sciences  seem  so  much  interested. 
Such  a  warning  will  naturally  rouse  up  the  attention  of 
the  reader,  and  make  him  desire  a  more  full  account  of 
my  doctrine,  as  well  as  of  the  arguments  on  which  it  is 
founded.  This  request  is  so  reasonable,  that  I  cannot 
refuse  complying  with  it;  especially  as  I  am  hopeful 
that  these  principles,  the  more  they  are  examined,  will 
acquire  the  more  force  and  evidence. 

There  is  no  question  which,  on  account  of  its  impor- 
tance, as  well  as  difficulty,  has  caused  more  disputes  both 
among  ancient  and  modern  philosophers,  than  this  con- 
cerning the  efficacy  of  causes,  or  that  quality  which 
makes  them  be  followed  by  their  effects.  But  before 
they  entered  upon  these  disputes,  methinks  it  would  not 
have  been  improper  to  have  examined  what  idea  we 
have  of  that  efficacy,  which  is  the  subject  of  the  con- 
troversy. This  is  what  I  find  principally  wanting  in 
their  reasonings,  and  what  I  shall  here  endeavor  to 
supply. 

I  begin  with  observing,  that  the  terms  of  efficacy, 
agency,  poiver,  force,  energy,  necessity,  connection,  and  productive 
quality,  are  all  nearly  synonymous;  and  therefore  it  is 
an  absurdity  to  employ  any  of  them  in  defining  the 
rest.  By  this  observation  we  reject  at  once  all  the 
vulgar  definitions  which  philosophers  have  given  of 
power  and  efficacy ;  and  instead  of  searching  for  the 
idea  in  these  definitions,  must  look  for  it  in  the  impres- 
sions from  which  it  is  originally  derived.  If  it  be  a 
compound  idea,  it  must  arise  from  compound  impres- 
sions.    If  simple,  from  simple  impressions. 

I  believe  the  most  general  and  most  popular  explica- 

17* 


202  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

tion  of  this  matter,  is  to  say,*  that  finding  from  expe- 
rience that  there  are  several  new  productions  in  matter, 
such  as  the  motions  and  variations  of  body,  and  con- 
cluding that  there  must  somewhere  be  a  power  capable 
of  producing  them,  we  arrive  at  last  by  this  reasoning 
at  the  idea  of  power  and  efficacy.  But  to  be  convinced 
that  this  explication  is  more  popular  than  philosophical, 
we  need  but  reflect  on  two  very  obvious  principles. 
First,  that  reason  alone  can  never  give  rise  to  any  origi- 
nal idea  ;  and,  secondly,  that  reason,  as  distinguished  from 
experience,  can  never  make  us  conclude  that  a  cause 
or  productive  quality  is  absolutely  requisite  to  every 
beginning  of  existence.  Both  these  considerations 
have  been  sufficiently  explained ;  and  therefore  shall 
not  at  present  be  any  further  insisted  on. 

I  shall  only  infer  from  them,  that  since  reason  can 
never  give  rise  to  the  idea  of  efficacy,  that  idea  must  be 
derived   from    experience,   and    from    some    particular 
instances  of  this  efficacy,  wThich  make  their  passage  into 
the  mind  by  the  common  channels  of  sensation  or  reflec- 
tion.    Ideas  always  represent  their  objects  or  impres- 
|  J    sions;  and  vice  versa,  there  are  some  objects  necessary  to 
1 1    give  rise  to  every  idea.     If  we  pretend,  therefore,  to 
have  any  just  idea  of  this  efficacy,  we  must  produce 
v^some  instance  wherein  the  efficacy  is  plainly  discovera- 
^fc  ble  to  the  mind,  and  its  operations  obvious  to  our  con- 
/  ^  sciousness   or   sensation.      By  the  refusal  of  this,  we 
2*1*  acknowledge, that  the  idea  is  impossible  and  imaginary; 
^  o  since  the  principle  of  jnnatg.  ideas,  which  alone  can  save 
js     us  from  this  dilemma,  has  been  already  refuted,  and  is 
now  almost  universally  rejected  in  the  learned  world. 


*  See  Mr.  Locke ;  chapter  of  Power. 


OF   THE  UNDERSTANDING.  203 

Our  present  business,  then,  must  be  to  find  some  natural 
production,  where  the  operation  and  efficacy  of  a  cause 
can  be  clearly  conceived  and  comprehended  by  the 
mind,  without  any  danger  of  obscurity  or  mistake. 

In  this  research,  we  meet  with  very  little  encourage- 
ment from  that  prodigious  diversity  which  is  found  in 
the  opinions  of  those  philosophers  who  have  pretended 
to  explain  the  secret  force  and  energy  of  causes.*  There 
are  some  who  maintain,  that  bodies  operate  by  their 
substantial  form ;  others,  by  their  accidents  or  qualities; 
several,  by  their  matter  and  form ;  some,  by  their  form 
and  accidents ;  others,  by  certain  virtues  and  faculties 
distinct  from  all  this.  All  these  sentiments,  again,  are 
mixed  and  varied  in  a  thousand  different  ways,  and  form 
a  strong  presumption  that  none  of  them  have  any 
solidity  or  evidence,  and  that  the  supposition  of  an 
efficacy  in  any  of  the  known  qualities  of  matter  is 
entirely  without  foundation.  This  presumption  must 
increase  upon  us,  when  we  consider,  that  these  principles 
of  substantial  forms,  and  accidents,  and  faculties,  are  not 
in  reality  any  of  the  known  properties  of  bodies,  but  are 
perfectly  unintelligible  and  inexplicable.  For  it  is  evi- 
dent philosophers  would  never  have  had  recourse  to 
such  obscure  and  uncertain  principles,  had  they  met 
with  any  satisfaction  in  such  as  are  clear  and  intelligible ; 
especially  in  such  an  affair  as  this,  which  must  be  an 
object  of  the  simplest  understanding,  if  not  of  the  senses. 
Upon  the  whole,  we  may  conclude,  that  it  is  impossible, 
in  any  one  instance,  to  show  the  principle  in  which  the 
force  and  agency  of  a  cause  is  placed ;  and  that  the  most 
refined  and  most  vulgar  understandings  are  equally  at  a 

*  See  Father  Malbranche,  Book  VI.  Part  II.  Chap.  3,  and  the  illustrations 
upon  it. 


204  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

loss  in  this  particular.  If  any  one  think  proper  to  refute 
this  assertion,  he  need  not  put  himself  to  the  trouble  of 
inventing  any  long  reasonings,  but  may  at  once  show  us 
an  instance  of  a  cause,  where  we  discover  the  power  or 
operating  principle.  This  defiance  we  are  obliged  fre- 
quently to  make  use  of,  as  being  almost  the  only  means 
of  proving  a  negative  in  philosophy. 

The  small  success  which  has  been  met  with  in  all  the 
attempts  to  fix  this  power,  has  at  last  obliged  philoso- 
phers to  conclude,  that  the  ultimate  force  and  efficacy 
of  nature  is  perfectly  unknown  to  us,  and  that  it  is  in 
vain  we  search  for  it  in  all  the  known  qualities  of  mat- 
ter. In  this  opinion  they  are  almost  unanimous ;  and  it 
is  only  in  the  inference  they  draw  from  it,  that  they 
discover  any  difference  in  their  sentiments.  For  some 
of  them,  as  the  Cartesians  in  particular,  having  estab- 
lished it  as  a  principle,  that  we  are  perfectly  acquainted 
with  the  essence  of  matter,  have  very  naturally  inferred, 
that  it  is  endowed  with  no  efficacy,  and  that  it  is  impos- 
sible for  it  of  itself  to  communicate  motion,  or  produce 
any  of  those  effects,  which  we  ascribe  to  it.  As  the 
essence  of  matter  consists  in  extension,  and  as  extension 
implies  not  actual  motion,  but  only  mobility ;  they  con- 
clude, that  the  energy,  which  produces  the  motion,  can- 
not lie  in  the  extension. 

This  conclusion  leads  them  into  another,  which  they 
regard  as  perfectly  unavoidable.  Matter,  say  they,  is 
in  itself  entirely  unactive,  and  deprived  of  any  power, 
by  which  it  may  produce,  or  continue,  or  communicate 
motion :  but  since  these  effects  are  evident  to  our  senses, 
and  since  the  power  that  produces  them  must  be  placed 
somewhere,  it  must  lie  in  the  Deity,  or  that  Divine 
Being  who  contains  in  his  nature  all  excellency  and  per- 
fection.    It  is  the  Deity,  therefore,  who  is  the  prime 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  205 

mover  of  the  universe,  and  who  not  only  first  created 
matter,  and  gave  it  its  original  impulse,  but  likewise,  by 
a  continued  exertion  of  omnipotence,  supports  its  exist- 
ence, and  successively  bestows  on  it  all  those  motions, 
and  configurations,  and  qualities,  with  which  it  is 
endowed. 

This  opinion  is  certainly  very  curious,  and  well  worth 
our  attention ;  but  it  will  appear  superfluous  to  examine 
it  in  this  place,  if  we  reflect  a  moment  on  our  present 
purpose  in  taking  notice  of  it.  We  have  established  it 
as  a  principle,  that  as  all  ideas  are  derived  from  impres- 
sions, or  some  precedent  perceptions,  it  is  impossible  we 
can  have  any  idea  of  power  and  efficacy,  unless  some 
instances  can  be  produced,  wherein  this  power  is  per- 
ceived  to  exert  itself.  Now,  as  these  instances  can  never 
be  discovered  in  body,  the  Cartesians,  proceeding  upon 
their  principle  of  innate  ideas,  have  had  recourse  to  a 
Supreme  Spirit  or  Deity,  whom  they  consider  as  the 
only  active  being  in  the  universe,  and  as  the  immediate 
cause  of  every  alteration  in  matter.  But  the  principle 
of  innate  ideas  being  allowed  to  be  false,  it  follows,  that 
the  supposition  of  a  Deity  can  serve  us  in  no  stead,  in 
accounting  for  that  idea  of  agency,  which  we  search  for 
in  vain  in  all  the  objects  which  are  presented  to  our 
senses,  or  which  we  are  internally  conscious  of  in  our 
own  minds.  For  if  every  idea  be  derived  from  an 
impression,  the  idea  of  a  Deity  proceeds  from  the  same 
origin;  and  if  no  impression,  either  of  sensation  or 
reflection,  implies  any  force  or  efficacy,  it  is  equally 
impossible  to  discover  or  even  imagine  any  such  active 
principle  in  the  Deity.  Since  these  philosophers,  there- 
fore, have  concluded  that  matter  cannot  be  endowed 
with  any  efficacious  principle,  because  it  is  impossible  to 
discover  in  it  such  a  principle,  the  same  course  of  rea- 


206  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

soning  should  determine  them  to  exclude  it  from  the 
Supreme  Being.  Or,  if  they  esteem  that  opinion  absurd 
and  impious,  as  it  really  is,  I  shall  tell  them  how  they 
may  avoid  it ;  and  that  is,  by  concluding  from  the  very 
first,  that  they  have  no  adequate  idea  of  power  or 
efficacy  in  any  object ;  since  neither  in  body  nor  spirit, 
neither  in  superior  nor  inferior  natures,  are  they  able  to 
discover  one  single  instance  of  it. 

The  same  conclusion  is  unavoidable  upon  the  hypo- 
thesis of  those,  who  maintain  the  efficacy  of  second 
causes,  and  attribute  a  derivative,  but  a  real  power  and 
energy  to  matter.  For  as  they  confess  that  this  energy 
lies  not  in  any  of  the  known  qualities  of  matter,  the 
difficulty  still  remains  concerning  the  origin  of  its  idea. 
If  we  have  really  an  idea  of  power,  we  may  attribute 
power  to  an  unknown  quality :  but  as  it  is  impossible 
that  that  idea  can  be  derived  from  such  a  quality,  and 
as  there  is  nothing  in  known  qualities  which  can  pro- 
duce it,  it  follows  that  we  deceive  ourselves,  when  we 
imagine  we  are  possessed  of  any  idea  of  this  kind,  after 
the  manner  we  commonly  understand  it.  All  ideas  are 
derived  from,  and  represent  impressions.  We  never  have 
any  impression  that  contains  any  power  or  efficacy.  We 
never,  therefore,  have  any  idea  of  power. 

Some  have  asserted,  that  we  feel  an  energy  or  power 
in  our  own  mind;  and  that,  having  in  this  manner 
acquired  the  idea  of  power,  we  transfer  that  quality  to 
matter,  where  we  are  not  able  immediately  to  discover 
it.  The  motions  of  our  body,  and  the  thoughts  and  sen- 
timents of  our  mind  (say  they)  obey  the  will ;  nor  do 
we  seek  any  further  to  acquire  a  just  notion  of  force  or 
power.  But  to  convince  us  how  fallacious  this  reason- 
ing is,  we  need  only  consider,  that  the  will  being  here 
considered  as  a  cause,  hasx  no  more  a  discoverable  con- 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  207 

nection  with  its  effects,  than  any  material  cause  has  with 
its  proper  effect.  So  far  from  perceiving  the  connection 
betwixt  an  act  of  volition  and  a  motion  of  the  body,  it 
is  allowed  that  no  effect  is  more  inexplicable  from  the 
powers  and  essence  of  thought  and  matter.  Nor  is  the 
empire  of  the  will  over  our  mind  more  intelligible. 
The  effect  is  there  distinguishable  and  separable  from 
the  cause,  and  could  be  foreseen  without  the  experience 
of  their  constant  conjunction.  We  have  command  over 
our  mind  to  a  certain  degree,  but  beyond  that  lose  all 
empire  over  it :  and  it  is  evidently  impossible  to  fix  any 
precise  bounds  to  our  authority,  where  we  consult  not 
experience.  In  short,  the  actions  of  the  mind  are,  in 
this  respect,  the  same  with  those  of  matter.  We  per- 
ceive only  their  constant  conjunction  ;  nor  can  we  ever 
reason  beyond  it.  No  internal  impression  has  an  appa- 
rent energy,  more  than  external  objects  have.  Since, 
therefore,  matter  is  confessed  by  philosophers  to  operate 
by  an  unknown  force,  we  should  in  vain  hope  to  attain 
an  idea  of  force  by  consulting  our  own  minds  * 

It  has  been  established  as  a  certain  principle,  that 
general  or  abstract  ideas  are  nothing  but  individual  ones 
taken  in  a  certain  light,  and  that,  in  reflecting  on  any 
object,  it  is  as  impossible  to  exclude  from  our  thought 
all  particular  degrees  of  quantity  and  quality  as  from 
the  real  nature  of  things.  If  we  be  possessed,  therefore, 
of  any  idea  of  power  in  general,  we  must  also  be  able 
to  conceive  some  particular  species  of  it ;  and  as  power 


*  The  same  imperfection  attends  our  ideas  of  the  Deity ;  but  this  can  have 
no  effect  either  on  religion  or  morals.  The  order  of  the  universe  proves  an 
omnipotent  mind ;  that  is,  a  mind  whose  will  is  constantly  attended  with  the 
obedience  of  every  creature  and  being.  Nothing  more  is  requisite  to  give  a 
foundation  to  all  the  articles  of  religion ;  nor  is  it  necessary  we  should  form  a 
distinct  idea  of  the  force  and  energy  of  the  Supreme  Being. 


208  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

cannot  subsist  alone,  but  is  always  regarded  as  an  attri- 
bute of  some  being  or  existence,  we  must  be  able  to 
place  this  power  in  some  particular  being,  and  conceive 
that  being  as  endowed  with  a  real  force  and  energy,  by 
which  such  a  particular  effect  necessarily  results  from  its 
operation.  We  must  distinctly  and  particularly  conceive 
the  connection  betwixt  the  cause  and  effect,  and  be  able 
to  pronounce,  from  a  simple  view  of  the  one,  that  it 
must  be  followed  or  preceded  by  the  other.  This  is  the 
true  manner  of  conceiving  a  particular  power  in  a  par- 
ticular body :  and  a  general  idea  being  impossible  with- 
out an  individual ;  where  the  latter  is  impossible,  it  is 
certain  the  former  can  never  exist.  Now  nothing  is 
more  evident,  than  that  the  human  mind  cannot  form 
such  an  idea  of  two  objects,  as  to  conceive  any  connec- 
tion betwixt  them,  or  comprehend  distinctly  that  power 
or  efficacy,  by  which  they  are  united.  Such  a  connec- 
tion would  amount  to  a  demonstration,  and  would  imply 
the  absolute  impossibility  for  the  one  object  not  to  fol- 
low, or  to  be  conceived  not  to  follow  upon  the  other  : 
which  kind  of  connection  has  already  been  rejected  in 
all  cases.  If  any  one  is  of  a  contrary  opinion,  and 
thinks  he  has  attained  a  notion  of  power  in  any  partic- 
|f  ular  object,  I  desire  he  may  point  out  to  me  that  object. 
But  till  I  meet  with  such  a  one,  which  I  despair  of,  I 
cannot  forbear  concluding,  that  since  we  can  never  dis- 
tinctly conceive  how  any  particular  power  can  possibly 
reside  in  any  particular  object,  we  deceive  ourselves  in 
imagining  we  can  form  any  such  general  idea. 

Thus,  upon  the  whole,  we  may  infer,  that  when  we 
talk  of  any  being,  whether  of  a  superior  or  inferior 
nature,  as  endowed  with  a  power  or  force,  proportioned 
to  any  effect ;  wThen  we  speak  of  a  necessary  connec- 
tion betwixt  objects,  and  suppose  that  this  connection 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  209 

depends  upon  an  efficacy  or  energy,  with  which  any  of 
these  objects  are  endowed ;  in  all  the  expressions,  so 
applied,  we  have  really  no  distinct  meaning,  and  make 
use  only  of  common  words,  without  any  clear  and  deter- 
minate ideas.  But  as  it  is  more  probable,  that  these 
expressions  do  here  lose  their  true  meaning  by  being 
wrong  applied,  than  that  they  never  have  any  meaning ; 
it  will  be  proper  to  bestow  another  consideration  on  this 
subject,  to  see  if  possibly  we  can  discover  the  nature 
and  origin  of  those  ideas  we  annex  to  them. 

Suppose  two  objects  to  be  presented  to  us,  of  which 
the  one  is  the  cause  and  the  other  the  effect ;  it  is  plain 
that,  from  the  simple  consideration  of  one,  or  both  these 
objects,  we  never  shall  perceive  the  tie  by  which  they 
are  united,  or  be  able  certainly  to  pronounce,  that  there 
is  a  connection  betwixt  them.  It  is  not,  therefore,  from 
any  one  instance,  that  we  arrive  at  the  idea  of  cause 
and  effect,  of  a  necessary  connection  of  power,  of  force, 
of  energy,  and  of  efficacy.  Did  we  never  see  any  but 
particular  conjunctions  of  objects,  entirely  different  from 
each  other,  we  should  never  be  able  to  form  any  such 
ideas. 

But,  again,  suppose  we  observe  several  instances  in 
which  the  same  objects  are  always  conjoined  together, 
we  immediately  conceive  a  connection  betwixt  them, 
and  begin  to  draw  an  inference  from  one  to  another. 
This  multiplicity  of  resembling  instances,  therefore,  con- 
stitutes the  very  essence  of  power  or  connection,  and  is 
the  source  from  which  the  idea  of  it  arises.  In  order, 
then,  to  understand  the  idea  of  power,  we  must  consider 
that  multiplicity ;  nor  do  I  ask  more  to  give  a  solution 
of  that  difficulty,  which  has  so  long  perplexed  us.  For 
thus  I  reason.  The  repetition  of  perfectly  similar  in- 
stances can  never  alone  give  rise  to  an  original  idea,  dif- 

vol.  i.  18 


210  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

ferent  from  what  is  to  be  found  in  any  particular 
instance,  as  has  been  observed,  and  as  evidently  follows 
from  our  fundamental  principle,  that  all  ideas  are  copried 
from  impressions.  Since,  therefore,  the  idea  of  power  is 
a  new  original  idea,  not  to  be  found  in  any  one  instance, 
and  which  yet  arises  from  the  repetition  of  several  in- 
stances, it  follows,  that  the  repetition  alone  has  not  that 
effect,  but  must  either  discover  or  produce  something  new, 
which  is  the  source  of  that  idea.  Did  the  repetition 
neither  discover  nor  produce  any  thing  new,  our  ideas 
might  be  multiplied  by  it,  but  would  not  be  enlarged 
above  what  they  are  upon  the  observation  of  one  single 
instance.  Every  enlargement,  therefore,  (such  as  the 
idea  of  power  or  connection)  which  arises  from  the  mul- 
tiplicity of  similar  instances,  is  copied  from  some  effects 
of  the  multiplicity,  and  will  be  perfectly  understood  by 
understanding  these  effects.  Wherever  we  find  any 
thing  new  to  be  discovered  or  produced  by  the  repeti- 
tion, there  we  must  place  the  power,  and  must  never 
look  for  it  in  any  other  object. 

But  it  is  evident,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  repetition 
of  like  objects  in  like  relations  of  succession  and  conti- 
guity, discovers  nothing  new  in  any  one  of  them ;  since 
we  can  draw  no  inference  from  it,  nor  make  it  a  subject 
either  of  our  demonstrative  or  probable  reasonings ;  as 
has  been  already  proved*  Nay,  suppose  we  could  draw 
an  inference,  it  would  be  of  no  consequence  in  the  pres- 
ent case ;  since  no  kind  of  reasoning  can  give  rise  to  a 
new  idea,  such  as  this  of  power  is ;  but  wherever  we  rea- 
son, we  must  antecedently  be  possessed  of  clear  ideas, 
which  may  be  the  objects  of  our  reasoning.  The  con- 
ception always  precedes  the  understanding;  and  where 

*  Section  6. 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  211 

the  one  is  obscure,  the  other  is  uncertain ;  where  the  one 
fails,  the  other  must  fail  also. 

Secondly,  it  is  certain  that  this  repetition  of  similar 
objects  in  similar  situations,  produces  nothing  new  either 
in  these  objects,  or  in  any  external  body.  For  it  will 
readily  be  allowed,  that  the  several  instances  we  have  of 
the  conjunction  of  resembling  causes  and  effects,  are  in 
themselves  entirely  independent,  and  that  the  communi- 
cation of  motion,  which  I  see  result  at  present  from  the 
shock  of  two  billiard  balls,  is  totally  distinct  from  that 
which  I  saw  result  from  such  an  impulse  a  twelvemonth 
ago.  These  impulses  have  no  influence  on  each  other. 
They  *are  entirely  divided  by  time  and  place ;  and  the 
one  might  have  existed  and  communicated  motion, 
though  the  other  never  had  been  in  being. 

There  is,  then,  nothing  new  either  discovered  or  pro- 
duced in  any  objects  by  their  constant  conjunction,  and 
by  the  uninterrupted  resemblance  of  their  relations  of 
succession  and  contiguity.  But  it  is  from  this  resem- 
blance, that  the  ideas  of  necessity,  of  power,  and  of  effi- 
cacy, are  derived.  These  ideas,  therefore,  represent  not 
any  thing,  that  does  or  can  belong  to  the  objects,  which 
are  constantly  conjoined.  This  is  an  argument,  which, 
in  every  view  we  can  examine  it,  will  be  found  perfectly 
unanswerable.  Similar  instances  are  still  the  first  source 
of  our  idea  of  power  or  necessity  ;  at  the  same  time  that 
they  have  no  influence  by  their  similarity  either  on  each 
other,  or  on  any  external  object.  We  must,  therefore, 
turn  ourselves  to  some  other  quarter  to  seek  the  origin 
of  that  idea. 

Though  the  several  resembling  instances,  which  give 
rise  to  the  idea  of  power,  have  no  influence  on  each 
other,  and  can  never  produce  any  new  quality  in  the  ob- 
ject, which  can  be  the  model  of  that  idea,  yet  the  observer 


212  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

Hon  of  this  resemblance  produces  a  new  impression  in  the 
mind,  which  is  its  real  model.  For  after  we  have  observed 
the  resemblance  in  a  sufficient  number  of  instances,  we 
immediately  feel  a  determination  of  the  mind  to  pass 
from  one  object  to  its  usual  attendant,  and  to  conceive  it 
in  a  stronger  light  upon  account  of  that  relation.  This 
determination  is  the  only  effect  of  the  resemblance ;  and, 
therefore,  must  be  the  same  with  power  or  efficacy, 
whose  idea  is  derived  from  the  resemblance.  The  sev- 
eral instances  of  resembling  conjunctions  lead  us  into 
the  notion  of  power  and  necessity.  These  instances  are 
in  themselves  totally  distinct  from  each  other,  and  have 
no  union  but  in  the  mind,  which  observes  them,  and  col- 
lects their  ideas.  Necessity,  then,  is  the  effect  of  this 
observation,  and  is  nothing  but  an  internal  impression  of 
the  mind,  or  a  determination  to  carry  our  thoughts  from 
one  object  to  another.  Without  considering  it  in  this 
view,  we  can  never  arrive  at  the  most  distant  notion  of 
it,  or  be  able  to  attribute  it  either  to  external  or  internal 
objects,  to  spirit  or  body,  to  causes  or  effects. 

The  necessary  connection  betwixt  causes  and  effects 
is  the  foundation  of  our  inference  from  one  to  the  other. 
The  foundation  of  our  inference  is  the  transition  arising 
from  the  accustomed  union.  These  are,  therefore,  the 
same. 

The  idea  of  necessity  arises  from  some  impression. 
There  is  no  impression  conveyed  by  our  senses,  which 
can  give  rise  to  that  idea.  It  must,  therefore,  be  derived 
from  some  internal  impression,  or  impression  of  reflec- 
tion. There  is  no  internal  impression  which  has  any  re- 
lation to  the  present  business,  but  that  propensity,  which 
custom  produces,  to  pass  from  an  object  to  the  idea  of  its 
usual  attendant.  This,  therefore,  is  the  essence  of  neces- 
sity.    Upon  the  whole,  necessity  is  something  that  exists 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  213 

in  the  mind,  not  in  objects ;  nor  is  it  possible  for  us  ever 
to  form  the  most  distant  idea  of  it,  considered  as  a  qual- 
ity in  bodies.  Either  we  have  no  idea  of  necessity,  or 
necessity  is  nothing  but  that  determination  of  the 
thought  to  pass  from  causes  to  effects,  and  from  effects 
to  causes,  according  to  their  experienced  union. 

Thus,  as  the  necessity,  which  makes  two  times  two 
equal  to  four,  or  three  angles  of  a  triangle  equal  to  two 
right  ones,  lies  only  in  the  act  of  the  understanding,  by 
which  we  consider  and  compare  these  ideas;  in  like 
manner,  the  necessity  of  power,  which  unites  causes  and 
effects,  lies  in  the  determination  of  the  mind  to  pass  from 
the  one  to  the  other.  The  efficacy  or  energy  of  causes 
is  neither  placed  in  the  causes  themselves,  nor  in  the 
Deity,  nor  in  the  concurrence  of  these  two  principles ; 
but  belongs  entirely  to  the  soul,  which  considers  the 
union  of  two  or  more  objects  in  all  past  instances.  It 
is  here  that  the  real  power  of  causes  is  placed,  along 
with  their  connection  and  necessity. 

I  am  sensible,  that  of  all  the  paradoxes  which  I  have 
had,  or  shall  hereafter  have  occasion  to  advance  in  the 
course  of  this  Treatise,  the  present  one  is  the  most  vio- 
lent, and  that  it  is  merely  by  dint  of  solid  proof  and  rea- 
soning I  can  ever  hope  it  will  have  admission,  and  over- 
come the  inveterate  prejudices  of  mankind.  Before  we 
are  reconciled  to  this  doctrine,  how  often  must  we  repeat 
to  ourselves,  that  the  simple  view  of  any  two  objects  or 
actions,  however  related,  can  never  give  us  any  idea  of 
power,  or  of  a  connection  betwixt  them :  that  this  idea 
arises  from  the  repetition  of  their  union :  that  the  repe- 
tition neither  discovers  nor  causes  any  thing  in  the  ob- 
jects, but  has  an  influence  only  on  the  mind,  by  that 
customary  transition  it  produces:  that  this  customary 
transition  is  therefore  the  same  with  the  power  and  ne- 

18* 


214  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

cessity  ;  which  are  consequently  qualities  of  perceptions, 
not  of  objects,  and  are  internally  felt  by  the  soul,  and 
not  perceived  externally  in  bodies  ?  There  is  commonly 
an  astonishment  attending  every  thing  extraordinary; 
and  this  astonishment  changes  immediately  into  the 
highest  degree  of  esteem  or  contempt,  according  as  we 
approve  or  disapprove  of  the  subject.  I  am  much  afraid, 
that  though  the  foregoing  reasoning  appears  to  me  the 
shortest  and  most  decisive  imaginable,  yet,  with  the  gen- 
erality of  readers,  the  bias  of  the  mind  will  prevail,  and 
give  them  a  prejudice  against  the  present  doctrine. 

This  contrary  bias  is  easily  accounted  for.  It  is  a 
common  observation,  that  the  mind  has  a  great  propen- 
sity to  spread  itself  on  external  objects,  and  to  conjoin 
with  them  any  internal  impressions  which  they  occasion, 
and  which  always  make  their  appearance  at  the  same 
time  that  these  objects  discover  themselves  to  the  senses. 
Thus,  as  certain  sounds  and  smells  are  always  found  to 
attend  certain  visible  objects,  we  naturally  imagine  a 
conjunction,  even  in  place,  betwixt  the  objects  and 
qualities,  though  the  qualities  be  of  such  a  nature  as  to 
admit  of  no  such  conjunction,  and  really  exist  nowhere. 
But  of  this  more  fully  hereafter*  Meanwhile,  it  is 
sufficient  to  observe,  that  the  same  propensity  is  the 
reason  why  we  suppose  necessity  and  power  to  lie  in  the 
objects  we  consider,  not  in  our  mind,  that  considers 
them ;  notwithstanding  it  is  not  possible  for  us  to  form 
the  most  distant  idea  of  that  quality,  when  it  is  not 
taken  for  the  determination  of  the  mind,  to  pass  from 
the  idea  of  an  object  to  that  of  its  usual  attendant. 

But  though  this  be  the  only  reasonable  account  we 
can  give  of  necessity,  the  contrary  notion  is  so  riveted 

*  Part  IV.  sect,  5. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  215 

in  the  mind  from  the  principles  above  mentioned,  that  I 
doubt  not  but  my  sentiments  will  be  treated  by  many 
as  extravagant  and  ridiculous.  What!  the  efficacy  of 
causes  lie  in  the  determination  of  the  mind!  As  if 
causes  did  not  operate  entirely  independent  of  the  mind, 
and  would  not  continue  their  operation,  even  though 
there  was  no  mind  existent  to  contemplate  them,  or 
reason  concerning  them.  Thought  may  well  depend  on 
causes  for  its  operation,  but  not  causes  on  thought.  This 
is  to  reverse  the  order  of  nature,  and  make  that  second- 
ary, which  is  really  primary.  To  every  operation  there 
is  a  power  proportioned;  and  this  power  must  be  placed 
on  the  body  that  operates.  If  we  remove  the  power 
from  one  cause,  we  must  ascribe  it  to  another ;  but  to 
remove  it  from  all  causes,  and  bestow  it  on  a  being  that 
is  noways  related  to  the  cause  or  effect,  but  by  perceiv- 
ing them,  is  a  gross  absurdity,  and  contrary  to  the  most 
certain  principles  of  human  reason. 

I  can  only  reply  to  all  these  arguments,  that  the  case 
is  here  much  the  same,  as  if  a  blind  man  should  pretend 
to  find  a  great  many  absurdities  in  the  supposition,  that 
the  color  of  scarlet  is  not  the  same  with  the  sound  of  a 
trumpet,  nor  light  the  same  with  solidity.  If  we  have 
really  no  idea  of  a  power  or  efficacy  in  any  object,  or  of 
any  real  connection  betwixt  causes  and  effects^  it  will  be 
to  little  purpose  to  prove,  that  an  efficacy  is  necessary 
in  all  operations.  We  do  not  understand  our  own  mean- 
ing in  talking  so,  but  ignorantly  confound  ideas  which 
are  entirely  distinct  from  each  other.  I  am,  indeed, 
ready  to  allow,  that  there  may  be  several  qualities,  both 
in  material  and  immaterial  objects,  with  which  we  are 
utterly  unacquainted;  and  if  we  please  to  call  these 
poiver  or  efficacy,  it  will  be  of  little  consequence  to  the 
world.     But  when,  instead  of  meaning  these  unknown 


216  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

qualities,  we  make  the  terms  of  power  and  efficacy  sig- 
nify something,  of  which  we  have  a  clear  idea,  and 
which  is  incompatible  with  those  objects  to  which  we 
apply  it,  obscurity  and  error  begin  then  to  take  place, 
and  we  are  led  astray  by  a  false  philosophy.  This  is  the 
case  when  we  transfer  the  determination  of  the  thought 
to  external  objects,  and  suppose  any  real  intelligible 
connection  betwixt  them;  that  being  a  quality  which 
can  only  belong  to  the  mind  that  considers  them. 

As  to  what  may  be  said,  that  the  operations  of  nature 
are  independent  of  our  thought  and  reasoning,  I  allow 
it ;  and  accordingly  have  observed,  that  objects  bear  to 
each  other  the  relations  of  contiguity  and  succession; 
that  like  objects  may  be  observed,  in  several  instances, 
to  have  like  relations ;  and  that  all  this  is  independent 
of,  and  antecedent  to,  the  operations  of  the  understand- 
ing. But  if  we  go  any  further,  and  ascribe  a  power  or 
necessary  connection  to  these  objects,  this  is  what  we 
can  never  observe  in  them,  but  must  draw  the  idea  of  it 
from  what  we  feel  internally  in  contemplating  them. 
And  this  I  carry  so  far,  that  I  am  ready  to  convert  my 
present  reasoning  into  an  instance  of  it,  by  a  subtilty 
which  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  comprehend. 

When  any  object  is  presented  to  us,  it  immediately 
conveys  to  the  mind  a  lively  idea  of  that  object  which 
is  usually  found  to  attend  it ;  and  this  determination  of 
the  mind  forms  the  necessary  connection  of  these  objects. 
But  when  we  change  the  point  of  view  from  the  objects 
to  the  perceptions,  in  that  case  the  impression  is  to  be 
considered  as  the  cause,  and  the  lively  idea  as  the  effect ; 
and  their  necessary  connection  is  that  new  determina- 
tion, which  we  feel  to  pass  from  the  idea  of  the  one  to 
that  of  the  other.  The  uniting  principle  among  our 
internal  perceptions  is  as  unintelligible  as  that  among 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  217 

external  objects,  and  is  not  known  to  us  any  other  way 
than  by  experience.  Now,  the  nature  and  effects  of 
experience  have  been  already  sufficiently  examined  and 
explained.  It  never  gives  us  any  insight  into  the 
internal  structure  or  operating  principle  of  objects,  but 
only  accustoms  the  mind  to  pass  from  one  to  another. 

It  is  now  time  to  collect  all  the  different  parts  of  this 
reasoning,  and,  by  joining  them  together,  form  an  exact 
definition  of  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect,  which 
makes  the  subject  of  the  present  inquiry.  This  order 
would  not  have  been  excusable,  of  first  examining  our 
inference  from  the  relation  before  we  had  explained  the 
relation  itself,  had  it  been  possible  to  proceed  in  a  dif- 
ferent method.  But  as  the  nature  of  the  relation 
depends  so  much  on  that  of  the  inference,  we  have  been 
obliged  to  advance  in  this  seemingly  preposterous  man- 
ner, and  make  use  of  terms  before  we  were  able  exactly 
to  define  them,  or  fix  their  meaning.  We  shall  now 
correct  this  fault  by  giving  a  precise  definition  of  cause 
and  effect. 

There  may  two  definitions  be  given  of  this  relation, 
which  are  only  different  by  their  presenting  a  differ- 
ent view  of  the  same  object,  and  making  us  consider  it 
either  as  a  philosophical  or  as  a  natural  relation ;  either  as 
a  comparison  of  two  ideas,  or  as  an  association  betwixt 
them.  We  may  define  a  cause  to  be  "An  object  prece- 
dent and  contiguous  to  another,  and  where  all  the 
objects  resembling  the  former  are  placed  in  like  relations 
of  precedency  and  contiguity  to  those  objects  that 
resemble  the  latter."  If  this  definition  be  esteemed 
defective,  because  drawn  from  objects  foreign  to  the 
cause,  we  may  substitute  this  other  definition  in  its  place, 
viz.  "  A  cause  is  an  object  precedent  and  contiguous  to 
another,  and  so  united  with  it  that  the  idea  of  the  one 


218  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

determines  the  mind  to  form  the  idea  of  the  other,  and 
the  impression  of  the  one  to  form  a  more  lively  idea  of 
the  other."  Should  this  definition  also  be  rejected  for 
the  same  reason,  I  know  no  other  remedy,  than  that  the 
persons  who  express  this  delicacy  should  substitute  a 
juster  definition  in  its  place.  But,  for  my  part,  I  must 
own  my  incapacity  for  such  an  undertaking.  When  I 
examine,  with  the  utmost  accuracy,  those  objects  which 
are  commonly  denominated  causes  and  effects,  I  find,  in 
considering  a  single  instance,  that  the  one  object  is  pre- 
cedent and  contiguous  to  the  other;  and  in  enlarging 
my  view  to  consider  several  instances,  I  find  only  that 
like  objects  are  constantly  placed  in  like  relations  of 
succession  and  contiguity.  Again,  when  I  consider  the 
influence  of  this  constant  conjunction,  I  perceive  that 
such  a  relation  can  never  be  an  object  of  reasoning,  and 
can  never  operate  upon  the  mind  but  by  means  of  cus- 
tom, which  determines  the  imagination  to  make  a  tran- 
sition from  the  idea  of  one  object  to  that  of  its  usual 
attendant,  and  from  the  impression  of  one  to  a  more 
lively  idea  of  the  other.  However  extraordinary  these 
sentiments  may  appear,  I  think  it  fruitless  to  trouble 
myself  with  any  further  inquiry  or  reasoning  upon  the 
subject,  but  shall  repose  myself  on  them  as  on  estab- 
lished maxims. 

It  will  only  be  proper,  before  we  leave  this  subject, 
to  draw  some  corollaries  from  it,  by  which  we  may 
remove  several  prejudices  and  popular  errors  that  have 
very  much  prevailed  in  philosophy.  First,  we  may 
learn,  from  the  foregoing  doctrine,  that  all  causes  are 
of  the  same  kind,  and  that,  in  particular,  there  is  no 
foundation  for  that  distinction  which  we  sometimes  make 
betwixt  efficient  causes,  and  causes  sine  qua  non;  or 
betwixt  efficient  causes,  and  formal,  and  material,  and 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  219 

exemplary,  and  final  causes.  For  as  our  idea  of 
efficiency  is  derived  from  the  constant  conjunction  of 
two  objects,  wherever  this  is  observed,  the  cause  is 
efficient ;  and  where  it  is  not,  there  can  never  be  a  cause 
of  any  kind.  For  the  same  reason  we  must  reject  the 
distinction  betwixt  cause  and  occasion,  when  supposed  to 
signify  any  thing  essentially  different  from  each  other. 
If  constant  conjunction  be  implied  in  what  we  call  occa- 
sion, it  is  a  real  cause ;  if  not,  it  is  no  relation  at  all, 
and  cannot  give  rise  to  any  argument  or  reasoning. 

Secondly,  the  same  course  of  reasoning  will  make  us 
conclude,  that  there  is  but  one  kind  of  necessity,  as  there 
is  but  one  kind  of  cause,  and  that  the  common  distinc- 
tion betwixt  moral  and  physical  necessity  is  without  any 
foundation  in  nature.  This  clearly  appears  from  the 
precedent  explication  of  necessity.  It  is  the  constant 
conjunction  of  objects,  along  with  the  determination  of 
the  mind,  which  constitutes  a  physical  necessity:  and 
the  removal  of  these  is  the  same  thing  with  chance.  As 
objects  must  either  be  conjoined  or  not,  and  as  the  mind 
must  either  be  determined  or  not  to  pass  from  one 
object  to  another,  it  is  impossible  to  admit  of  any 
medium  betwixt  chance  and  an  absolute  necessity.  In 
weakening  this  conjunction  and  determination  you  do 
not  change  the  nature  of  the  necessity ;  since  even  in 
the  operation  of  bodies,  these  have  different  degrees  of 
constancy  and  force,  without  producing  a  different  species 
of  that  relation. 

The  distinction,  which  we  often  make  betwixt  power 
and  the  exercise  of  it,  is  equally  without  foundation. 

Thirdly,  we  may  now  be  able  fully  to  overcome  all 
that  repugnance,  which  it  is  so  natural  for  us  to  enter- 
tain against  the  foregoing  reasoning,  by  which  we 
endeavored  to  prove,  that  the  necessity  of  a  cause  to 


220  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

every  beginning  of  existence  is  not  founded  on  any 
arguments  either  demonstrative  or  intuitive.  Such  an 
opinion  will  not  appear  strange  after  the  foregoing 
definitions.  If  we  define  a  cause  to  be  an  object  prece- 
dent and  contiguous  to  another,  and  where  all  the  objects  resem- 
bling the  former  are  placed  in  a  like  relation  of  priority  and 
contiguity  to  those  objects  that  resemble  the  latter ;  wre  may 
easily  conceive  that  there  is  no  absolute  nor  metaphysi- 
cal necessity,  that  every  beginning  of  existence  should 
be  attended  with  such  an  object.  If  we  define  a  cause 
to  be,  an  'object  precedent  and  contiguous  to  another,  and  so 
united  with  it  in  the  imagination,  that  the  idea  of  the  one  deter- 
mines the  mind  to  form  the  idea  of  the  other,  and  the  impres- 
sion of  the  one  to  form  a  more  lively  idea  of  the  other ;  we 
shall  make  still  less  difficulty  of  assenting  to  this  opinion. 
Such  an  influence  on  the  mind  is  in  itself  perfectly 
extraordinary  and  incomprehensible;  nor  can  we  be 
certain  of  its  reality,  but  from  experience  and  obser- 
vation. 

I  shall  add  as  a  fourth  corollary,  that  we  can  never 
have  reason  to  believe  that  any  object  exists,  of  which 
we  cannot  form  an  idea.  For,  as  all  our  reasonings  con- 
cerning existence  are  derived  from  causation,  and  as  all 
our  reasonings  concerning  causation  are  derived  from 
the  experienced  conjunction  of  objects,  not  from  any 
reasoning  or  reflection,  the  same  experience  must  give 
us  a  notion  of  these  objects,  and  must  remove  all  mys- 
tery from  our  conclusions.  This  is  so  evident  that  it 
would  scarce  have  merited  our  attention,  were  it  not  to 
obviate  certain  objections  of  this  kind  which  might  arise 
against  the  following  reasonings  concerning  matter  and 
substance.  I  need  not  observe,  that  a  full  knowledge  of 
the  object  is  not  requisite,  but  only  of  those  qualities  of 
it  which  we  believe  to  exist. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  221 

SECTION  XV. 

RULES    BY   WHICH   TO    JUDGE    OF    CAUSES    AND    EFFECTS. 

According  to  the  precedent  doctrine,  there  are  no 
objects  which,  by  the  mere  survey,  without  consulting 
experience,  we  can  determine  to  be  the  causes  of  any 
other;  and  no  objects  which  we  can  certainly  determine 
in  the  same  manner  not  to  be  the  causes.  Any  thing 
may  produce  any  thing.  Creation,  annihilation,  motion, 
reason,  volition ;  all  these  may  arise  from  one  another, 
or  from  any  other  object  we  can  imagine.  Nor  will  this 
appear  strange  if  we  compare  two  principles  explained 
above,  that  the  constant  conjunction  of  objects  determines  their 
causation*  and  that, properly  speaking,  no  objects  are  contrary 
to  each  other  bid  existence  and  non-existence.  Where  objects 
are  not  contrary,  nothing  hinders  them  from  having  that 
constant  conjunction  on  which  the  relation  of  cause  and 
effect  totally  depends. 

Since,  therefore,  it  is  possible  for  all  objects  to  become 
causes  or  effects  to  each  other,  it  may  be  proper  to  fix 
some  general  rules  by  which  we  may  know  when  they 
really  are  so. 

1.  The  cause  and  effect  must  be  contiguous  in  space 
and  time. 

2.  The  cause  must  be  prior  to  the  effect. 

3.  There  must  be  a  constant  union  betwixt  the  cause 
and  effect.  It  is  chiefly  this  quality  that  constitutes  the 
relation. 

4.  The  same  cause  always  produces  the  same  effect,  and 
the  same  effect  never  arises  but  from  the  same  cause. 

*  Part  I.  Sect.  5. 
VOL.  I.  19 


222  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

This  principle  we  derive  from  experience,  and  is  the 
source  of  most  of  our  philosophical  reasonings.  For 
when  by  any  clear  experiment  we  have  discovered  the 
causes  or  effects  of  any  phenomenon,  we  immediately 
extend  our  observation  to  every  phenomenon  of  the 
same  kind,  without  waiting  for  that  constant  repetition, 
from  which  the  first  idea  of  this  relation  is  derived. 

5.  There  is  another  principle  which  hangs  upon  this, 
viz.  that  where  several  different  objects  produce  the 
same  effect,  it  must  be  by  means  of  some  quality  which 
we  discover  to  be  common  amongst  them.  For  as  like 
effects  imply  like  causes,  we  must  always  ascribe  the 
causation  to  the  circumstance  wherein  we  discover  the 
resemblance. 

6.  The  following  principle  is  founded  on  the  same 
reason.  The  difference  in  the  effects  of  two  resembling 
objects  must  proceed  from  that  particular  in  which  they 
differ.  For  as  like  causes  always  produce  like  effects, 
when  in  any  instance  we  find  our  expectation  to  be  dis- 
appointed, we  must  conclude  that  this  irregularity  pro- 
ceeds from  some  difference  in  the  causes. 

7.  When  any  object  increases  or  diminishes  with  the 
increase  or  diminution  of  its  cause,  it  is  to  be  regarded 
as  a  compounded  effect,  derived  from  the  union  of  the 
several  different  effects  which  arise  from  the  several  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  cause.  The  absence  or  presence  of 
one  part  of  the  cause  is  here  supposed  to  be  always 
attended  with  the  absence  or  presence  of  a  proportion- 
able part  of  the  effect.  This  constant  conjunction  suf- 
ficiently proves  that  the  one  part  is  the  cause  of  the 
other.  We  must,  however,  beware  not  to  draw  such  a 
conclusion  from  a  few  experiments.  A  certain  degree 
of  heat  gives  pleasure ;  if  you  diminish  that  heat,  the 
pleasure  diminishes ;  but  it  does  not  follow,  that  if  you 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  223 

augment  it  beyond  a  certain  degree,  the  pleasure  will 
likewise  augment ;  for  we  find  that  it  degenerates  into 
pain. 

8.  The  eighth  and  last  rule  I  shall  take  notice  of  is, 
that  an  object,  which  exists  for  any  time  in  its  full  per- 
fection without  any  effect,  is  not  the  sole  cause  of  that 
effect,  but  requires  to  be  assisted  by  some  other  princi- 
ple, which  may  forward  its  influence  and  operation. 
For  as  like  effects  necessarily  follow  from  like  causes, 
and  in  a  contiguous  time  and  place,  their  separation 
for  a  moment  shows  that  these  causes  are  not  complete 
ones.  . 

Here  is  all  the  logic  I  think  proper  to  employ  in  my 
reasoning ;  and  perhaps  even  this  was  not  very  neces- 
sary, but  might  have  been  supplied  by  the  natural  prin- 
ciples of  our  understanding.  Our  scholastic  headpieces 
and  logicians  show  no  such  superiority  above  the  mere 
vulgar  in  their  reason  and  ability,  as  to  give  us  any 
inclination  to  imitate  them  in  delivering  a  long  system 
of  rules  and  precepts  to  direct  our  judgment  in  philoso- 
phy. All  the  rules  of  this  nature  are  very  easy  in  their 
invention,  but  extremely  difficult  in  their  application ; 
and  even  experimental  philosophy,  which  seems  the 
most  natural  and  simple  of  any,  requires  the  utmost 
stretch  of  human  judgment.  There  is  no  phenomenon 
in  nature  but  what  is  compounded  and  modified  by  so 
many  different  circumstances,  that,  in  order  to  arrive  at 
the  decisive  point,  we  must  carefully  separate  whatever 
is  superfluous,  and  inquire,  by  new  experiments,  if  every 
particular  circumstance  of  the  first  experiment  was 
essential  to  it.  These  new  experiments  are  liable  to  a 
discussion  of  the  same  kind ;  so  that  the  utmost  con- 
stancy is  required  to  make  us  persevere  in  our  inquiry, 
and  the  utmost  sagacity  to  choose  the  right  way  among  so 


224  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

many  that  present  themselves.  If  this  be  the  case  even 
in  natural  philosophy,  how  much  more  in  moral,  where 
there  is  a  much  greater  complication  of  circumstances, 
and  where  those  views  and  sentiments,  which  are  essen- 
tial to  any  action  of  the  mind,  are  so  implicit  and 
obscure,  that  they  often  escape  our  strictest  attention, 
and  are  not  only  unaccountable  in  their  causes,  but  even 
unknown  in  their  existence  ?  I  am  much  afraid,  lest  the 
small  success  I  meet  with  in  my  inquiries,  will  make  this 
observation  bear  the  air  of  an  apology  rather  than  of 
boasting. 

If  any  thing  can  give  me  security  in  this  particular, 
it  will  be  the  enlarging  the  sphere  of  my  experiments 
as  much  as  possible ;  for  which  reason,  it  may  be  proper, 
in  this  place,  to  examine  the  reasoning  faculty  of  brutes, 
as  well  as  that  of  human  creatures. 


SECTION  XVI. 

OF   THE   REASON    OF  ANIMALS. 

Next  to  the  ridicule  of  denying  an  evident  truth,  is 
that  of  taking  much  pains  to  defend  it ;  and  no  truth 
appears  to  me  more  evident,  than  that  the  beasts  are 
endowed  with  thought  and  reason  as  well  as  men.  The 
arguments  are  in  this  case  so  obvious,  that  they  never 
escape  the  most  stupid  and  ignorant. 

We  are  conscious,  that  we  ourselves,  in  adapting 
means  to  ends,  are  guided  by  reason  and  design,  and 
that  it  is  not  ignorantly  nor  casually  we  perform  those 
actions  which  tend  to  self-preservation,  to  the  obtaining 
pleasure,  and  avoiding  pain.  When,  therefore,  we  see 
other  creatures,  in  millions  of  instances,  perform  like 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  225 

actions,  and  direct  them  to  like  ends,  all  our  principles 
of  reason  and  probability  carry  us  with  an  invincible 
force  to  believe  the  existence  of  a  like  cause.  It  is 
needless,  in  my  opinion,  to  illustrate  this  argument  by 
the  enumeration  of  particulars.  The  smallest  attention 
will  supply  us  with  more  than  are  requisite.  The 
resemblance  betwixt  the  actions  of  animals  and  those 
of  men  is  so  entire,  in  this  respect,  that  the  very  first 
action  of  the  first  animal  we  shall  please  to  pitch  on, 
will  afford  us  an  incontestable  argument  for  the  present 
doctrine. 

This  doctrine  is  as  useful  as  it  is  obvious,  and  fur- 
nishes us  with  a  kind  of  touchstone,  by  which  we  may 
try  every  system  in  this  species  of  philosophy.  It  is 
from  the  resemblance  of  the  external  actions  of  animals 
to  those  we  ourselves  perform,  that  we  judge  their 
internal  likewise  to  resemble  ours ;  and  the  same  prin- 
ciple of  reasoning,  carried  one  step  further,  will  make 
us  conclude,  that,  since  our  internal  actions  resemble 
each  other,  the  causes,  from  which  they  are  derived, 
must  also  be  resembling.  When  any  hypothesis,  there- 
fore, is  advanced  to  explain  a  mental  operation,  which  is 
common  to  men  and  beasts,  we  must  apply  the  same 
hypothesis  to  both ;  and  as  every  true  hypothesis  will 
abide  this  trial,  so  I  may  venture  to  affirm,  that  no  false 
one  will  ever  be  able  to  endure  it.  The  common 
defect  of  those  systems,  which  philosophers  have  em- 
ployed to  account  for  the  actions  of  the  mind,  is,  that 
they  suppose  such  a  subtilty  and  refinement  of  thought, 
as  not  only  exceeds  the  capacity  of  mere  animals,  but 
even  of  children  and  the  common  people  in  our  own 
species;  who  are,  notwithstanding,  susceptible  of  the 
same  emotions  and  affections  as  persons  of  the  most 
accomplished  genius  and  understanding.     Such  a  sub- 

19  • 


226  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

tilty  is  a  clear  proof  of  the  falsehood,  as  the  contrary 
simplicity  of  the  truth,  of  any  system. 

Let  us,  therefore,  put  our  present  system,  concerning 
the  nature  of  the  understanding,  to  this  decisive  trial, 
and  see  whether  it  will  equally  account  for  the  reason- 
ings of  beasts  as  for  those  of  the  human  species. 

Here  we  must  make  a  distinction  betwixt  those 
actions  of  animals,  which  are  of  a  vulgar  nature,  and 
seem  to  be  on  a  level  with  their  common  capacities,  and 
those  more  extraordinary  instances  of  sagacity,  which 
they  sometimes  discover  for  their  own  preservation,  and 
the  propagation  of  their  species.  A  dog  that  avoids  fire 
and  precipices,  that  shuns  strangers,  and  caresses  his 
master,  affords  us  an  instance  of  the  first  kind.  A  bird, 
that  chooses  with  such  care  and  nicety  the  place  and 
materials  of  her  nest,  and  sits  upon  her  eggs  for  a  due 
time,  and  in  a  suitable  season,  with  all  the  precaution 
that  a  chemist  is  capable  of  in  the  most  delicate  projec- 
tion, furnishes  us  with  a  lively  instance  of  the  second. 

As  to  the  former  actions,  I  assert  they  proceed  from 
a  reasoning,  that  is  not  in  itself  different,  nor  founded 
on  different  principles,  from  that  which  appears  in  human 
nature.  It  is  necessary,  in  the  first  place,  that  there  be 
some  impression  immediately  present  to  their  memory 
or  senses,  in  order  to  be  the  foundation  of  their  judg- 
ment. From  the  tone  of  voice  the  dog  infers  his  mas- 
ter's anger,  and  foresees  his  own  punishment.  From  a 
certain  sensation  affecting  his  smell,  he  judges  his  game 
not  to  be  far  distant  from  him. 

Secondly,  the  inference  he  draws  from  the  present 
impression  is  built  on  experience,  and  on  his  observa- 
tion of  the  conjunction  of  objects  in  past  instances.  As 
you  vary  this  experience,  he  varies  his  reasoning. 
Make  a  beating  follow  upon  one  sign  or  motion  for 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  227 

some  time,  and  afterwards  upon  another ;  and  he  will 
successively  draw  different  conclusions,  according  to  his 
most  recent  experience. 

Now,  let  any  philosopher  make  a  trial,  and  endeavor 
to  explain  that  act  of  the  mind  which  we  call  belief,  and 
give  an  account  of  the  principles  from  which  it  is 
derived,  independent  of  the  influence  of  custom  on  the 
imagination,  and  let  his  hypothesis  be  equally  applica- 
ble to  beasts  as  to  the  human  species ;  and,  after  he  has 
done  this,  I  promise  to  embrace  his  opinion.  But,  at 
the  same  time  I  demand  as  an  equitable  condition,  that 
if  my  system  be  the  only  one,  which  can  answer  to  all 
these  terms,  it  may  be  received  as  entirely  satisfactory 
and  convincing.  And  that  it  is  the  only  one,  is  evident 
almost  without  any  reasoning.  Beasts  certainly  never 
perceive  any  real  connection  among  objects.  It  is  there- 
fore by  experience  they  infer  one  from  another.  They 
can  never  by  any  arguments  form  a  general  conclu- 
sion, that  those  objects  of  which  they  have  had  no 
experience,  resemble  those  of  which  they  have.  It  is 
therefore  by  means  of  custom  alone  that  experience 
operates  upon  them.  All  this  was  sufficiently  evident 
with  respect  to  man.  But  with  respect  to  beasts  there 
cannot  be  the  least  suspicion  of  mistake ;  which  must 
be  owned  to  be  a  strong  confirmation,  or  rather  an 
invincible  proof  of  my  system. 

Nothing  shows  more  the  force  of  habit  in  reconciling 
us  to  any  phenomenon,  than  this,  that  men  are  not  aston- 
ished at  the  operations  of  their  own  reason,  at  the  same 
time  that  they  admire  the  instinct  of  animals,  and  find  a 
difficulty  in  explaining  it,  merely  because  it  cannot  be 
reduced  to  the  very  same  principles.  To  consider  the 
matter  aright,  reason  is  nothing  but  a  wonderful  and  un- 
intelligible instinct  in  our  souls,  which  carries  us  along 


228  OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

a  certain  train  of  ideas,  and  endows  them  with  particu- 
lar qualities,  according  to  their  particular  situations  and 
relations.  This  instinct,  it  is  true,  arises  from  past  ob- 
servation and  experience ;  but  can  any  one  give  the 
ultimate  reason,  why  past  experience  and  observation 
produces  such  an  effect,  any  more  than  why  nature  alone 
should  produce  it?  Nature  may  certainly  produce 
whatever  can  arise  from  habit :  nay,  habit  is  nothing  but 
one  of  the  principles  of  nature,  and  derives  all  its  force 
from  that  origin. 


PAET  IV. 

OF  THE   SCEPTICAL   AND   OTHER  SYSTEMS   OF 
PHILOSOPHY. 


SECTION   I. 

OF  SCEPTICISM  WITH  REGARD  TO  REASON. 

In  all  demonstrative  sciences  the  rules  are  certain  and 
infallible ;  but  when  we  apply  them,  our  fallible  and 
uncertain  faculties  are  very  apt  to  depart  from  them, 
and  fall  into  error.  "We  must,  therefore,  in  every  rea- 
soning form  a  new  judgment,  as  a  check  or  control  on 
our  first  judgment  or  belief;  and  must  enlarge  our  view 
to  comprehend  a  kind  of  history  of  all  the  instances, 
wherein  our  understanding  has  deceived  us,  compared 
with  those  wherein  its  testimony  was  just  and  true. 
Our  reason  must  be  considered  as  a  kind  of  cause,  of 
which  truth  is  the  natural  effect;  but  such  a  one  as,  by 
the  irruption  of  other  causes,  and  by  the  inconstancy  of 
our  mental  powers,  may  frequently  be  prevented.  By 
this  means  all  knowledge  degenerates  into  probability ; 
and  this  probability  is  greater  or  less,  according  to  our 
experience  of  the  veracity  or  deceitfulness  of  our  un- 
derstanding, and  according  to  the  simplicity  or  intricacy 
of  the  question. 


230  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

There  is  no  algebraist  nor  mathematician  so  expert  in 
his  science,  as  to  place  entire  confidence  in  any  truth 
immediately  upon  his  discovery  of  it,  or  regard  it  as 
any  thing  but  a  mere  probability.  Every  time  he  runs 
over  his  proofs,  his  confidence  increases ;  but  still  more 
by  the  approbation  of  his  friends ;  and  is  raised  to  its 
utmost  perfection  by  the  universal  assent  and  applauses 
of  the  learned  world.  Now,  it  is  evident  that  this  grad- 
ual increase  of  assurance  is  nothing  but  the  addition  of 
new  probabilities,  and  is  derived  from  the  constant  union 
of  causes  and  effects,  according  to  past  experience  and 
observation. 

In  accounts  of  any  length  or  importance,  merchants 
seldom  trust  to  the  infallible  certainty  of  numbers  for 
their  security ;  but  by  the  artificial  structure  of  the  ac- 
counts, produce  a  probability  beyond  what  is  derived 
from  the  skill  and  experience  of  the  accountant.  For 
that  is  plainly  of  itself  some  degree  of  probability; 
though  uncertain  and  variable,  according  to  the  degrees 
of  his  experience  and  length  of  the  account.  Now  as 
none  will  maintain,  that  our  assurance  in  a  long  numer- 
ation exceeds  probability,  I  may  safely  affirm,  that  there 
scarce  is  any  proposition  concerning  numbers,  of  which 
we  can  have  a  fuller  security.  For  it  is  easily  possible, 
by  gradually  diminishing  the  numbers,  to  reduce  the 
longest  series  of  addition  to  the  most  simple  question 
which  can  be  formed,  to  an  addition  of  two  single  num- 
bers ;  and  upon  this  supposition  we  shall  find  it  imprac- 
ticable to  show  the  precise  limits  of  knowledge  and  of 
probability,  or  discover  that  particular  number  at  which 
the  one  ends  and  the  other  begins.  But  knowledge  and 
probability  are  of  such  contrary  and  disagreeing  natures, 
that  they  cannot  well  run  insensibly  into  each  other, 
and  that  because  they  will  not  divide,  but  must  be  either 


OP    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  231 

entirely  present,  or  entirely  absent.  Besides,  if  any 
single  addition  were  certain,  every  one  would  be  so,  and 
consequently  the  whole  or  total  sum ;  unless  the  whole 
can  be  different  from  all  its  parts.  I  had  almost  said, 
that  this  was  certain ;  but  I  reflect  that  it  must  reduce 
itself,  as  well  as  every  other  reasoning,  and  from  knowl- 
edge degenerate  into  probability. 

Since,  therefore,  all  knowledge  resolves  itself  into 
probability,  and  becomes  at  last  of  the  same  nature  with 
that  evidence  which  we  employ  in  common  life,  we  must 
now  examine  this  latter  species  of  reasoning,  and  see  on 
what  foundation  it  stands. 

In  every  judgment  which  we  can  form  concerning 
probability,  as  well  as  concerning  knowledge,  we  ought 
always  to  correct  the  first  judgment,  derived  from  the 
nature  of  the  object,  by  another  judgment,  derived  from 
the  nature  of  the  understanding.  It  is  certain  a  man  of 
solid  sense  and  long  experience  ought  to  have,  and  usu- 
ally has,  a  greater  assurance  in  his  opinions,  than  one 
that  is  foolish  and  ignorant,  and  that  our  sentiments 
have  different  degrees  of  authority,  even  with  ourselves, 
in  proportion  to  the  degrees  of  our  reason  and  experi- 
ence. In  the  man  of  the  best  sense  and  longest  experi- 
ence, this  authority  is  never  entire ;  since  even  such  a 
one  must  be  conscious  of  many  errors  in  the  past,  and 
must  still  dread  the  like  for  the  future.  Here  then  arises 
a  newT  species  of  probability  to  correct  and  regulate  the 
first,  and  fix  its  just  standard  and  proportion.  As  de- 
monstration is  subject  to  the  control  of  probability,  so 
is  probability  liable  to  a  new  correction  by  a  reflex  act 
of  the  mind,  wherein  the  nature  of  our  understanding, 
and  our  reasoning  from  the  first  probability,  become  our 
objects. 

Having  thus  found  in  every  probability,  beside  the 


232  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

original  uncertainty  inherent  in  the  subject,  a  new  un- 
certainty, derived  from  the  weakness  of  that  faculty 
which  judges,  and  having  adjusted  these  two  together, 
we  are  obliged  by  our  reason  to  add  a  new  doubt, 
derived  from  the  possibility  of  error  in  the  estimation  we 
make  of  the  truth  and  fidelity  of  our  faculties.  This  is 
a  doubt  which  immediately  occurs  to  us,  and  of  which, 
if  we  would  closely  pursue  our  reason,  we  cannot  avoid 
giving  a  decision.  But  this  decision,  though  it  should 
be  favorable  to  our  preceding  judgment,  being  founded 
only  on  probability,  must  weaken  still  further  our  first 
evidence,  and  must  itself  be  weakened  by  a  fourth  doubt 
of  the  same  kind,  and  so  on  in  infinitum;  till  at  last  there 
remain  nothing  of  the  original  probability,  however 
great  we  may  suppose  it  to  have  been,  and  however 
small  the  diminution  by  every  new  uncertainty.  No 
finite  object  can  subsist  under  a  decrease  repeated  in 
infinitum  ;  and  even  the  vastest  quantity,  which  can  enter 
into  human  imagination,  must  in  this  manner  be  reduced 
to  nothing.  Let  our  first  belief  be  never  so  strong,  it 
must  infallibly  perish,  by  passing  through  so  many  new 
examinations,  of  which  each  diminishes  somewhat  of  its 
force  and  vigor.  When  I  reflect  on  the  natural  fallibility 
of  my  judgment,  I  have  less  confidence  in  my  opinions, 
than  when  I  only  consider  the  objects  concerning  which 
I  reason ;  and  when  I  proceed  still  further,  to  turn  the 
scrutiny  against  every  successive  estimation  I  make  of 
my  faculties,  all  the  rules  of  logic  require  a  continual 
diminution,  and  at  last  a  total  extinction  of  belief  and 
evidence. 

Should  it  here  be  asked  me,  whether  I  sincerely  assent 
to  this  argument,  which  I  seem  to  take  such  pains  to 
inculcate,  and  whether  I  be  really  one  of  those  sceptics, 
who  hold  that  all  is  uncertain,  and  that  our  judgment  is 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  233 

not  in  any  thing  possessed  of  any  measures  of  truth  and 
falsehood  ;  I  should  reply,  that  this  question  is  entirely 
superfluous,  and  that  neither  I,  nor  any  other  person, 
was  ever  sincerely  and  constantly  of  that  opinion. 
Nature,  by  an  absolute  and  uncontrollable  necessity,  has 
determined  us  to  judge  as  well  as  to  breathe  and  feel; 
nor  can  we  any  more  forbear  viewing  certain  objects  in 
a  stronger  and  fuller  light,  upon  account  of  their  cus- 
tomary connection  with  a  present  impression,  than  we 
can  hinder  ourselves  from  thinking,  as  long  as  we  are 
awake,  or  seeing  the  surrounding  bodies,  when  we  turn 
our  eyes  towards  them  in  broad  sunshine.  Whoever 
has  taken  the  pains  to  refute  the  cavils  of  this  total  scep- 
ticism, has  really  disputed  without  an  antagonist,  and 
endeavored  by  arguments  to  establish  a  faculty,  which 
nature  has  antecedently  implanted  in  the  mind,  and  ren- 
dered unavoidable. 

My  intention  then  in  displaying  so  carefully  the  argu- 
ments of  that  fantastic  sect,  is  only  to  make  the  reader 
sensible  of  the  truth  of  my  hypothesis,  t/mt  all  our  rea- 
sonings concerning  causes  and  effects,  are  derived  from  nothing 
hut  custom  ;  and  that  belief  is  more  properly  an  act  of  the 
sensitive,  than  of  the  cogitative  part  of  oar  natures.  I  have 
here  proved,  that  the  very  same  principles,  which  make 
us  form  a  decision  upon  any  subject,  and  correct  that 
decision  by  the  consideration  of  our  genius  and  capacity, 
and  of  the  situation  of  our  mind,  when  we  examined 
that  subject ;  I  say,  I  have  proved,  that  these  same  prin- 
ciples, when  carried  further,  and  applied  to  every  new 
reflex  judgment,  must,  by  continually  diminishing  the 
original  evidence,  at  last  reduce  it  to  nothing,  and 
utterly  subvert  all  belief  and  opinion.  If  belief,  there- 
fore, were  a  simple  act  of  the  thought,  without  any 
peculiar  manner  of  conception,  or  the  addition  of   a 

vol.1.  20 


234  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

force  and  vivacity,  it  must  infallibly  destroy  itself,  and 
in  every  case  terminate  in  a  total  suspense  of  judgment. 
But  as  experience  will  sufficiently  convince  any  one, 
who  thinks  it  worth  while  to  try,  that  though  he  can 
find  no  error  in  the  foregoing  arguments,  yet  he  still 
continues  to  believe,  and  think,  and  reason,  as  usual,  he 
may  safely  conclude,  that  his  reasoning  and  belief  is 
some  sensation  or  peculiar  manner  of  conception,  which 
it  is  impossible  for  mere  ideas  and  reflections  to  destroy. 
But  here,  perhaps,  it  may  be  demanded,  how  it  hap- 
pens, even  upon  my  hypothesis,  that  these  arguments 
above  explained  produce  not  a  total  suspense  of  judgment, 
and  after  what  manner  the  mind  ever  retains  a  degree 
of  assurance  in  any  subject  ?  For  as  these  new  proba- 
bilities, which,  by  their  repetition,  perpetually  diminish 
the  original  evidence,  are  founded  on  the  very  same 
principles,  whether  of  thought  or  sensation,  as  the  pri- 
mary judgment,  it  may  seem  unavoidable,  that  in  either 
case  they  must  equally  subvert  it,  and  by  the  opposition, 
either  of  contrary  thoughts  or  sensations,  reduce  the 
mind  to  a  total  uncertainty.  I  suppose  there  is  some 
question  proposed  to  me,  and  that,  after  revolving  over 
the  impressions  of  my  memory  and  senses,  and  carrying 
my  thoughts  from  them  to  such  objects  as  are  commonly 
conjoined  with  them,  I  feel  a  stronger  and  more  forcible 
conception  on  the  one  side  than  on  the  other.  This 
strong  conception  forms  my  first  decision.  I  suppose, 
that  afterwards  I  examine  my  judgment  itself,  and 
observing,  from  experience,  that  it  is  sometimes  just  and 
sometimes  erroneous,  I  consider  it  as  regulated  by  con- 
trary principles  or  causes,  of  which  some  lead  to  truth, 
and  some  to  error ;  and  in  balancing  these  contrary 
causes,  I  diminish,  by  a  new  probability,  the  assurance  of 
my  first  decision.     This  new  probability  is  liable  to  the 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  235 

same  diminution  as  the  foregoing,  and  so  on,  in  infinitum. 
It  is  therefore  demanded,  hoiv  it  happens,  that,  even  after  all, 
tve  retain  a  degree  of  belief,  which  is  sufficient  for  our  purpose, 
either  in  philosophy  or  common  life  ? 

I  answer,  that  after  the  first  and  second  decision,  as 
the  action  of  the  mind  becomes  forced  and  unnatural, 
and  the  ideas  faint  and  obscure,  though  the  principles  of 
judgment,  and  the  balancing  of  opposite  causes  be  the 
same  as  at  the  very  beginning,  yet  their  influence  on 
the  imagination,  and  the  vigor  they  add  to,  or  diminish 
from,  the  thought,  is  by  no  means  equal.  Where  the 
mind  reaches  not  its  objects  with  easiness  and  facility, 
the  same  principles  have  not  the  same  effect  as  in  a 
more  natural  conception  of  the  ideas;  nor  does  the 
imagination  feel  a  sensation,  which  holds  any  proportion 
with  that  which  arises  from  its  common  judgments  and 
opinions.  The  attention  is  on  the  stretch ;  the  posture 
of  the  mind  is  uneasy ;  and  the  spirits  being  diverted 
from  their  natural  course,  are  not  governed  in  their 
movements  by  the  same  laws,  at  least  not  to  the  same 
degree,  as  when  they  flow  in  their  usual  channel. 

If  we  desire  similar  instances,  it  will  not  be  very  dif- 
ficult to  find  them.  The  present  subject  of  metaphysics 
will  supply  us  abundantly.  The  same  argument,  which 
would  have  been  esteemed  convincing  in  a  reasoning 
concerning  history  or  politics,  has  little  or  no  influence 
in  these  abstruser  subjects,  even  though  it  be  perfectly 
comprehended;  and  that  because  there  is  required  a 
study  and  an  effort  of  thought,  in  order  to  its  being 
comprehended  :  and  this  effort  of  thought  disturbs  the 
operation  of  our  sentiments,  on  which  the  belief  depends. 
The  case  is  the  same  in  other  subjects.  The  straining  of 
the  imagination  always  hinders  the  regular  flowing  of 
the  passions  and  sentiments.     A  tragic  poet,  that  would 


236  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

represent  his  heroes  as  very  ingenious  and  witty  in  their 
misfortunes,  would  never  touch  the  passions.  As  the 
emotions  of  the  soul  prevent  any  subtile  reasoning  and 
reflection,  so  these  latter  actions  of  the  mind  are  equally 
prejudicial  to  the  former.  The  mind,  as  well  as  the 
body,  seems  to  be  endowed  with  a  certain  precise  degree 
of  force  and  activity,  which  it  never  employs  in  one 
action,  but  at  the  expense  of  all  the  rest.  This  is  more 
evidently  true,  where  the  actions  are  of  quite  different 
natures ;  since  in  that  case  the  force  of  the  mind  is  not 
only  diverted,  but  even  the  disposition  changed,  so  as  to 
render  us  incapable  of  a  sudden  transition  from  one 
action  to  the  other,  and  still  more  of  performing  both  at 
once.  No  wonder,  then,  the  conviction,  which  arises 
from  a  subtile  reasoning,  diminishes  in  proportion  to  the 
efforts  which  the  imagination  makes  to  enter  into  the 
reasoning,  and  to  conceive  it  in  all  its  parts.  Belief, 
being  a  lively  conception,  can  never  be  entire,  where  it 
is  not  founded  on  something  natural  and  easy. 

This  I  take  to  be  the  true  state  of  the  question,  and 
cannot  approve  of  that  expeditious  way,  which  some 
take  with  the  sceptics,  to  reject  at  once  all  their  argu- 
ments without  inquiry  or  examination.  If  the  sceptical 
reasonings  be  strong,  say  they,  it  is  a  proof  that  reason 
may  have  some  force  and  authority ;  if  weak,  they  can 
never  be  sufficient  to  invalidate  all  the  conclusions  of 
our  understanding.  This  argument  is  not  just;  because 
the  sceptical  reasonings,  were  it  possible  for  them  to 
exist,  and  were  they  not  destroyed  by  their  subtilty, 
would  be  successively  both  strong  and  weak,  according 
to  the  successive  dispositions  of  the  mind.  Eeason  first 
appears  in  possession  of  the  throne,  prescribing  laws,  and 
imposing  maxims,  with  an  absolute  sway  and  authority. 
Her  enemy,  therefore,  is  obliged  to  take  shelter  under 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  237 

her  protection,  and  by  making  use  of  rational  arguments 
to  prove  the  fallaciousness  and  imbecility  of  reason,  pro- 
duces, in  a  manner,  a  patent  under  her  hand  and  seal. 
This  patent  has  at  first  an  authority,  proportioned  to  the 
present  and  immediate  authority  of  reason,  from  which 
it  is  derived.  But  as  it  is  supposed  to  be  contradictory 
to  reason,  it  gradually  diminishes  the  force  of  that  gov- 
erning power  and  its  own  at  the  same  time ;  till  at  last 
they  both  vanish  away  into  nothing,  by  a  regular  and 
just  diminution.  The  sceptical  and  dogmatical  reasons 
are  of  the  same  kind,  though  contrary  in  their  operation 
and  tendency ;  so  that  where  the  latter  is  strong,  it  has 
an  enemy  of  equal  force  in  the  former  to  encounter; 
and  as  their  forces  were  at  first  equal,  they  still  continue 
so,  as  long  as  either  of  them  subsists ;  nor  does  one  of 
them  lose  any  force  in  the  contest,  without  taking  as 
much  from  its  antagonist.  It  is  happy,  therefore,  that 
nature  breaks  the  force  of  all  sceptical  arguments  in 
time,  and  keeps  them  from  having  any  considerable 
influence  on  the  understanding.  "Were  we  to  trust 
entirely  to  their  self-destruction,  that  can  never  take 
place,  until  they  have  first  subverted  all  conviction,  and 
have  totally  destroyed  human  reason. 


SECTION  II. 

OF  SCEPTICISM  WITH  REGARD  TO  THE  SENSES. 

Thus  the  sceptic  still  continues  to  reason  and  believe, 
even  though  he  asserts  that  he  cannot  defend  his  reason 
by  reason ;  and  by  the  same  rule  he  must  assent  to  the 
principle  concerning  the  existence  of  body,  though  he 
cannot  pretend,  by  any  arguments  of  philosophy,  to 

20* 


238  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

maintain  its  veracity.  Nature  has  not  left  this  to  his 
choice,  and  has  doubtless  esteemed  it  an  affair  of  too 
great  importance,  to  be  trusted  to  our  uncertain  reason- 
ings and  speculations.  We  may  well  ask,  What  causes 
induce  ns  to  believe  in  the  existence  of  body  ?  but  it  is  in  vain 
to  ask,  Whether  there  be  body  or  not?  That  is  a  point, 
which  we  must  take  for  granted  in  all  our  reasonings. 

The  subject,  then,  of  our  present  inquiry,  is  concern- 
ing the  causes  which  induce  us  to  believe  in  the  existence 
of  body :  and  my  reasonings  on  this  head  I  shall  begin 
with  a  distinction,  which  at  first  sight  may  seem  super- 
fluous, but  which  will  contribute  very  much  to  the  per- 
fect understanding  of  what  follows.  We  ought  to 
examine  apart  those  two  questions,  which  are  com- 
monly confounded  together,  viz.  Why  we  attribute  a 
continued  existence  to  objects,  even  when  they  are  not 
present  to  the  senses;  and  why  we  suppose  them  to 
have  an  existence  distinct  from  the  mind  and  perception? 
Under  this  last  head  I  comprehend  their  situation  as 
well  as  relations,  their  external  position  as  well  as  the 
independence  of  their  existence  and  operation.  These 
two  questions  concerning  the  continued  and  distinct 
existence  of  body  are  intimately  connected  together. 
For  if  the  objects  of  our  senses  continue  to  exist,  even 
when  they  are  not  perceived,  their  existence  is  of  course 
independent  of  and  distinct  from  the  perception;  and 
vice  versa,  if  their  existence  be  independent  of  the  per- 
ception, and  distinct  from  it,  they  must  continue  to  exist, 
even  though  they  be  not  perceived.  But  though  the 
decision  of  the  one  question  decides  the  other ;  yet  that 
we  may  the  more  easily  discover  the  principles  of 
human  nature,  from  whence  the  decision  arises,  we 
shall  carry  along  with  us  this  distinction,  and  shall  con- 
sider, whether  it  be  the  senses,  reason,  or  the  imagination, 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  239 

that  produces  the  opinion  of  a  continued  or  of  a  distinct 
existence.  These  are  the  only  questions  that  are  intel- 
ligible on  the  present  subject.  For  as  to  the  notion  of 
external  existence,  when  taken  for  something  specifi- 
cally different  from  our  perceptions,  we  have  already 
shown  its  absurdity  * 

To  begin  with  the  senses,  it  is  evident  these  faculties 
are  incapable  of  giving  rise  to  the  notion  of  the  continued 
existence  of  their  objects,  after  they  no  longer  appear 
to  the  senses.  For  that  is  a  contradiction  in  terms,  and 
supposes  that  the  senses  continue  to  operate,  even  after 
they  have  ceased  all  manner  of  operation.  These  facul- 
ties, therefore,  if  they  have  any  influence  in  the  present 
case,  must  produce  the  opinion  of  a  distinct,  not  of  a 
continued  existence ;  and  in  order  to  that,  must  present 
their  impressions  either  as  images  and  representations, 
or  as  these  very  distinct  and  external  existences. 

That  our  senses  offer  not  their  impressions  as  the 
images  of  something  distinct,  ov  independent,  and  external, 
is  evident;  because  they  convey  to  us  nothing  but  a 
single  perception,  and  never  give  us  the  least  intimation 
of  any  thing  beyond.  A  single  perception  can  never 
produce  the  idea  of  a  double  existence,  but  by  some 
inference  either  of  the  reason  or  imagination.  When 
the  mind  looks  further  than  what  immediately  appears 
to  it,  its  conclusions  can  never  be  put  to  the  account  of  the 
senses ;  and  it  certainly  looks  further,  when  from  a  single 
perception  it  infers  a  double  existence,  and  supposes 
the  relations  of  resemblance  and  causation  betwixt  them. 

If  our  senses,  therefore,  suggest  any  idea  of  distinct 
existences,  they  must  convey  the  impressions  as  those 
very  existences,  by  a  kind  of  fallacy  and  illusion.     Upon 

*  Part  II.  Sect  6. 


240  OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

this  head  we  may  observe,  that  all  sensations  are  felt  by 
the  mind,  such  as  they  really  are,  and  that,  when  we 
doubt  whether  they  present  themselves  as  distinct 
objects,  or  as  mere  impressions,  the  difficulty  is  not  con- 
cerning their  nature,  but  concerning  their  relations  and 
situation.  Now,  if  the  senses  presented  our  impressions 
as  external  to,  and  independent  of  ourselves,  both  the 
objects  and  ourselves  must  be  obvious  to  our  senses, 
otherwise  they  could  not  be  compared  by  these  faculties. 
The  difficulty  then,  is,  how  far  we  are  ourselves  the  objects 
of  our  senses. 

It  is  certain  there  is  no  question  in  philosophy  more 
abstruse  than  that  concerning  identity,  and  the  nature 
of  the  uniting  principle,  which  constitutes  a  person.  So 
far  from  being  able  by  our  senses  merely  to  determine 
this  question,  we  must  have  recourse  to  the  most  pro- 
found metaphysics  to  give  a  satisfactory  answer  to  it; 
and  in  common  life  it  is  evident  these  ideas  of  self  and 
person  are  never  very  fixed  nor  determinate.  It  is 
absurd  therefore  to  imagine  the  senses  can  ever  distin- 
guish betwixt  ourselves  and  external  objects. 

Add  to  this,  that  every  impression,  external  and  inter- 
nal, passions,  affections,  sensations,  pains,  and  pleasures, 
are  originally  on  the  same  footing ;  and  that  whatever 
other  differences  we  may  observe  among  them,  they 
appear,  all  of  them,  in  their  true  colors,  as  impressions 
or  perceptions.  And  indeed,  if  we  consider  the  matter 
aright,  it  is  scarce  possible  it  should  be  otherwise ;  nor 
is  it  conceivable  that  our  senses  should  be  more  capable 
of  deceiving  us  in  the  situation  and  relations,  than  in  the 
nature  of  our  impressions.  For  since  all  actions  and 
sensations  of  the  mind  are  known  to  us  by  conscious- 
ness, they  must  necessarily  appear  in  every  particular 
what  they  are,  and  be  what  they  appear.     Every  thing 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  241 

that  enters  the  mind,  being  in  reality  as  the  perception, 
it  is  impossible  any  thing  should  to  feeling  appear  differ- 
ent. This  were  to  suppose,  that  even  where  we  are 
most  intimately  conscious,  we  might  be  mistaken. 

But  not  to  lose  time  in  examining,  whether  it  is  pos- 
sible for  our  senses  to  deceive  us,  and  represent  our  per- 
ceptions as  distinct  from  ourselves,  that  is,  as  external  to 
and  independent  of  us;  let  us  consider  whether  they 
really  do  so,  and  whether  this  error  proceeds  from  an 
immediate  sensation,  or  from  some  other  causes. 

To  begin  with  the  question  concerning  external  exist- 
ence, it  may  perhaps  be  said,  that  setting  aside  the 
metaphysical  question  of  the  identity  of  a  thinking  sub- 
stance, our  own  body  evidently  belongs  to  us ;  and  as 
several  impressions  appear  exterior  to  the  body,  we  sup- 
pose them  also  exterior  to  ourselves.  The  paper,  on 
which  I  write  at  present,  is  beyond  my  hand.  The  table 
is  beyond  the  paper.  The  walls  of  the  chamber  beyond 
the  table.  And  in  casting  my  eye  towards  the  window, 
I  perceive  a  great  extent  of  fields  and  buildings  beyond 
my  chamber.  From  all  this  it  may  be  inferred,  that  no 
other  faculty  is  required,  beside  the  senses,  to  convince 
us  of  the  external  existence  of  body.  But  to  prevent 
this  inference,  we  need  only  weigh  the  three  following 
considerations.  First,  that,  properly  speaking,  it  is  not 
our  body  we  perceive,  when  we  regard  our  limbs  and 
members,  but  certain  impressions,  which  enter  by  the 
senses ;  so  that  the  ascribing  a  real  and  corporeal  exist- 
ence to  these  impressions,  or  to  their  objects,  is  an  act 
of  the  mind  as  difficult  to  explain  as  that  which  we 
examine  at  present.  Secondly,  sounds,  and  tastes,  and 
smells,  though  commonly  regarded  by  the  mind  as  con- 
tinued independent  qualities,  appear  not  to  have  any 
existence  in  extension,  and  consequently  cannot  appear 


242  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

to  the  senses  as  situated  externally  to  the  body.  The 
reason  why  we  ascribe  a  place  to  them,  shall  be  consid- 
ered afterwards.*  Thirdly,  even  our  sight  informs  us  not 
of  distance  or  outness  (so  to  speak)  immediately  and 
without  a  certain  reasoning  and  experience,  as  is  ack- 
nowledged by  the  most  rational  philosophers. 

As  to  the  independency  of  our  perceptions  on  ourselves, 
this  can  never  be  an  object  of  the  senses;  but  any 
opinion  we  form  concerning  it,  must  be  derived  from 
experience  and  observation:  and  we  shall  see  after- 
wards, that  our  conclusions  from  experience  are  far  from 
being  favorable  to  the  doctrine  of  the  independency  of 
our  perceptions.  Meanwhile  we  may  observe,  that  when 
we  talk  of  real  distinct  existences,  we  have  commonly 
more  in  our  eye  their  independency  than  external  situ- 
ation in  place,  and  think  an  object  has  a  sufficient  real- 
ity, when  its  being  is  uninterrupted,  and  independent  of 
the  incessant  revolutions,  which  we  are  conscious  of  in 
ourselves. 

Thus  to  resume  what  T  have  said  concerning  the 
senses ;  they  give  us  no  notion  of  continued  existence, 
because  they  cannot  operate  beyond  the  extent,  in  which 
they  really  operate.  They  as  little  produce  the  opinion 
of  a  distinct  existence,  because  they  neither  can  offer  it 
to  the  mind  as  represented,  nor  as  original.  To  offer  it 
as  represented,  they  must  present  both  an  object  and  an 
image.  To  make  it  appear  as  original,  they  must 
convey  a  falsehood;  and  this  falsehood  must  lie  in  the 
relations  and  situation :  in  order  to  which,  they  must  be 
able  to  compare  the  object  with  ourselves ;  and  even  in 
that  case  they  do  not,  nor  is  it  possible  they  should 
deceive  us.     We  may  therefore  conclude  with  certainty, 

*  Sect.  5. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  243 

that  the  opinion  of  a  continued  and  of  a  distinct  exist- 
ence never  arises  from  the  senses. 

To  confirm  this,  we  may  observe,  that  there  are  three 
different  kinds  of  impressions  conveyed  by  the  senses. 
The  first  are  those  of  the  figure,  bulk,  motion,  and  solid- 
ity of  bodies.  The  second,  those  of  colors,  tastes,  smells, 
sounds,  heat,  and  cold.  The  third  are  the  pains  and 
pleasures  that  arise  from  the  application  of  objects  to 
our  bodies,  as  by  the  cutting  of  our  flesh  with  steel,  and 
such  like.  Both  philosophers  and  the  vulgar  suppose 
the  first  of  these  to  have  a  distinct  continued  existence. 
The  vulgar  only  regard  the  second  as  on  the  same 
footing.  Both  philosophers  and  the  vulgar,  again, 
esteem  the  third  to  be  merely  perceptions;  and,  con- 
sequently, interrupted  and  dependent  beings. 

Now,  it  is  evident,  that,  whatever  may  be  our  philo- 
sophical opinion/  color,  sounds,  heat,  and  cold,  as  far  as 
appears  to  the  senses,  exist  after  the  same  manner  with 
motion  and  solidity ;  and  that  the  difference  wTe  make 
betwixt  them,  in  this  respect,  arises  not  from  the  mere 
perception.  So  strong  is  the  prejudice  for  the  distinct 
continued  existence  of  the  former  qualities,  that  when 
the  contrary  opinion  is  advanced  by  modern  philoso- 
phers, people  imagine  they  can  almost  refute  it  from 
their  feeling  and  experience,  and  that  their  very  senses 
contradict  this  philosophy.  It  is  also  evident,  that 
colors,  sounds,  etc.  are  originally  on  the  same  footing 
with  the  pain  that  arises  from  steel,  and  pleasure  that 
proceeds  from  a  fire ;  and  that  the  difference  betwixt 
them  is  founded  neither  on  perception  nor  reason,  but 
on  the  imagination.  For  as  they  are  confessed  to  be, 
both  of  them,  nothing  but  perceptions  arising  from  the 
particular  configurations  and  motions  of  the  parts  of 
body,  wherein   possibly   can   their   difference    consist? 


244  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

Upon  the  whole,  then,  we  may  conclude,  that,  as  far  as 
the  senses  are  judges,  all  perceptions  are  the  same  in 
the  manner  of  their  existence. 

We  may  also  observe,  in  this  instance  of  sounds  and 
colors,  that  we  can  attribute  a  distinct  continued   exist- 
ence to  objects  without  ever  consulting  reason,ov  weigh- 
ing our  opinions  by  any  philosophical  principles.     And, 
indeed,   whatever   convincing   arguments    philosophers 
may  fancy  they  can  produce  to  establish  the  belief  of 
objects  independent  of  the  mind,  it  is  obvious  these 
arguments  are  known  but  to  very  few ;  and  that  it  is 
not  by  them  that  children,  peasants,  and  the  greatest 
part  of  mankind,  are  induced  to  attribute  objects  to 
some  impressions,   and  deny  them  to  others.     Accord- 
ingly, we  find,  that  all  the  conclusions  which  the  vulgar 
form  on  this  head,  are  directly  contrary  to  those  which 
are   confirmed  by  philosophy.     For  philosophy  informs 
us,  that  every  thing  which  appears  to  the  mind,  is  noth- 
ing but  a  perception,  and  is  interrupted  and  dependent 
on  the  mind ;  whereas  the  vulgar  confound  perceptions 
and  objects,  and  attribute  a  distinct  continued  existence 
to   the   very  things  they  feel  or  see.     This  sentiment, 
then,  as  it  is  entirely  unreasonable,  must  proceed  from 
some  other  faculty  than  the  understanding.     To  which 
we  may  add,  that,  as  long  as  we  take  our  perceptions 
and  objects  to  be  the  same,  we  can  never  infer  the 
existence  of  the  one  from  that  of  the  other,  nor  form 
any  argument  from  the  relation  of  cause   and  effect; 
which  is  the  only  one  that  can  assure  us  of  matter  of 
fact.     Even  after  we   distinguish  our  perceptions  from 
our  objects,  it  will  appear  presently  that  we   are   still 
incapable  of  reasoning  from  the  existence  of  one  to  that 
of    the    other:   so   that,  upon   the   whole,  our   reason 
neither  does,  nor  is  it  possible  it  ever  should,  upon  any 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  245 

supposition,  give  us  an  assurance  of  the  continued  and 
distinct  existence  of  body.  That  opinion  must  be 
entirely  owing  to  the  imagination :  which  must  now  be 
the  subject  of  our  inquiry. 

Since  all  impressions  are  internal  and  perishing 
existences,  and  appear  as  such,  the  notion  of  their  dis- 
tinct and  continued  existence  must  arise  from  a  concur- 
rence of  some  of  their  qualities  with  the  qualities  of 
the  imagination ;  and  since  this  notion  does  not  extend 
to  all  of  them,  it  must  arise  from  certain  qualities  pecu- 
liar to  some  impressions.  It  will,  therefore,  be  easy  for 
us  to  discover  these  qualities  by  a  comparison  of  the 
impressions,  to  which  we  attribute  a  distinct  and  contin- 
ued existence,  with  those  which  we  regard  as  internal 
and  perishing. 

We  may  observe,  then,  that  it  is  neither  upon  account 
of  the  involuntariness  of  certain  impressions,  as  is  com- 
monly supposed,  nor  of  their  superior  force  and  violence, 
that  we  attribute  to  them  a  reality  and  continued  exist- 
ence, which  we  refuse  to  others  that  are  voluntary  or 
feeble.  For  it  is  evident,  our  pains  and  pleasures,  our 
passions  and  affections,  which  we  never  suppose  to  have 
any  existence  beyond  our  perception,  operate  with 
greater  violence,  and  are  equally  involuntary,  as  the 
impressions  of  figure  and  extension,  color  and  sound, 
which  we  suppose  to  be  permanent  beings.  The  heat  of 
a  fire,  when  moderate,  is  supposed  to  exist  in  the  fire ; 
but  the  pain  which  it  causes  upon  a  near  approach  is 
not  taken  to  have  any  being  except  in  the  perception. 

These  vulgar  opinions,  then,  being  rejected,  we  must 
search  for  some  other  hypothesis,  by  which  we  may  dis- 
cover those  peculiar  qualities  in  our  impressions,  which 
makes  us  attribute  to  them  a  distinct  and  continued 
existence. 

vol.  i.  21 


246  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

After  a  little  examination,  we  shall  find,  that  all  those 
objects,  to  which  we  attribute  a  continued  existence, 
have  a  peculiar  constancy,  which  distinguishes  them  from 
the  impressions  whose  existence  depends  upon  our  per- 
ception. Those  mountains,  and  houses,  and  trees,  which 
lie  at  present  under  my  eye,  have  always  appeared  to 
me  in  the  same  order  j  and  when  I  lose  sight  of  them 
by  shutting  my  eyes  or  turning  my  head,  I  soon  after 
find  them  return  upon  me  without  the  least  alteration. 
My  bed  and  table,  my  books  and  papers,  present  them- 
selves in  the  same  uniform  manner,  and  change  not  upon 
account  of  any  interruption  in  my  seeing  or  perceiving 
them.  This  is  the  case  with  all  the  impressions,  whose 
objects  are  supposed  to  have  an  external  existence  \  and 
is  the  case  with  no  other  impressions,  whether  gentle  or 
violent,  voluntary  or  involuntary. 

This  constancy,  however,  is  not  so  perfect  as  not  to 
admit  of  very  considerable  exceptions.  Bodies  often 
change  their  position  and  qualities,  and,  after  a  little 
absence  or  interruption,  may  become  hardly  knowable. 
But  here  it  is  observable,  that  even  in  these  changes 
they  preserve  a  coherence,  and  have  a  regular  dependence 
on  each  other ;  which  is  the  foundation  of  a  kind  of  rea- 
soning from  causation,  and  produces  the  opinion  of  their 
continued  existence.  When  I  return  to  my  chamber 
after  an  hour's  absence,  I  find  not  my  fire  in  the  same 
situation  in  which  I  left  it ;  but  then  I  am  accustomed, 
in  other  instances,  to  see  a  like  alteration  produced  in  a 
like  time,  whether  I  am  present  or  absent,  near  or  remote.. 
This  coherence,  therefore,  in  their  changes,  is  one  of  the 
characteristics  of  external  objects,  as  well  as  their  con- 
stancy. 

Having  found  that  the  opinion  of  the  continued 
existence  of  body  depends  on  the  coherence  and  constancy 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  247 

of  certain  impressions,  I  now  proceed  to  examine  after 
what  manner  these  qualities  give  rise  to  so  extraordi- 
nary an  opinion.  To  begin  with  the  coherence ;  we 
may  observe,  that  though  those  internal  impressions, 
which  we  regard  as  fleeting  and  perishing,  have  also  a 
certain  coherence  or  regularity  in  their  appearances,  yet 
it  is  of  somewhat  a  different  nature  from  that  which  we 
discover  in  bodies.  Our  passions  are  found  by  expe- 
rience to  have  a  mutual  connection  with,  and  dependence 
on  each  other ;  but  on  no  occasion  is  it  necessary  to  sup- 
pose that  they  have  existed  and  operated,  when  they 
were  not  perceived,  in  order  to  preserve  the  same  de- 
pendence and  connection,  of  which  we  have  had  expe- 
rience. The  case  is  not  the  same  with  relation  to 
external  objects.  Those  require  a  continued  existence, 
or  otherwise  lose,  in  a  great  measure,  the  regularity  of 
their  operation.  I  am  here  seated  in  my  chamber,  with 
my  face  to  the  fire  ;  and  all  the  objects  that  strike  my 
senses  are  contained  in  a  few  yards  around  me.  My 
memory,  indeed,  informs  me  of  the  existence  of  many 
objects  ;  but,  then,  this  information  extends  not  beyond 
their  past  existence,  nor  do  either  my  senses  or  memory 
give  any  testimony  to  the  continuance  of  their  being. 
When,  therefore,  I  am  thus  seated,  and  revolve  over 
these  thoughts,  I  hear  on  a  sudden  a  noise  as  of  a  door 
turning  upon  its  hinges ;  and  a  little  after  see  a  porter, 
who  advances  towards  me.  This  gives  occasion  to  many 
new  reflections  and  reasonings.  First,  I  never  have 
observed  that  this  noise  could  proceed  from  any  thing 
but  the  motion  of  a  door;  and  therefore  conclude,  that 
the  present  phenomenon  is  a  contradiction  to  all  past 
experience,  unless  the  door,  which  I  remember  on  the 
other  side  the  chamber,  be  still  in  being.  Again,  I  have 
always  found,  that  a  human  body  was  possessed  of  a 


248  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

quality  which  I  call  gravity,  and  which  hinders  it  from 
mounting  in  the  air,  as  this  porter  must  have  done  to 
arrive  at  my  chamber,  unless  the  stairs  I  remember  be 
not  annihilated  by  rny  absence.  But  this  is  not  all.  I 
receive  a  letter,  which,  upon  opening  it,  I  perceive  by 
the  handwriting  and  subscription  to  have  come  from  a 
friend,  who  says  he  is  two  hundred  leagues  distant.  It 
is  evident  I  can  never  account  for  this  phenomenon,  con- 
formable to  my  experience  in  other  instances,  without 
spreading  out  in  my  mind  the  whole  sea  and  continent 
between  us,  and  supposing  the  effects  and  continued 
existence  of  posts  and  ferries,  according  to  my  memory 
and  observation.  To  consider  these  phenomena  of  the 
porter  and  letter  in  a  certain  light,  they  are  contradic- 
tions to  common  experience,  and  may  be  regarded  as 
objections  to  those  maxims  which  we  form  concerning 
the  connections  of  causes  and  effects.  I  am  accustomed 
to  hear  such  a  sound,  and  see  such  an  object  in  motion 
at  the  same  time.  I  have  not  received,  in  this  particu- 
lar instance,  both  these  perceptions.  These  observations 
are  contrary,  unless  I  suppose  that  the  door  still  remains, 
and  that  it  was  opened  without  my  perceiving  it :  and 
this  supposition,  which  was  at  first  entirely  arbitrary  and 
hypothetical,  acquires  a  force  and  evidence  by  its  being 
the  only  one  upon  which  I  can  reconcile  these  contra- 
dictions. There  is  scarce  a  moment  of  my  life,  wherein 
there  is  not  a  similar  instance  presented  to  me,  and  I 
have  not  occasion  to  suppose  the  continued  existence  of 
objects,  in  order  to  connect  their  past  and  present 
appearances,  and  give  them  such  a  union  with  each 
other,  as  I  have  found,  by  experience,  to  be  suitable 
to  their  particular  natures  and  circumstances.  Here, 
then,  I  am  naturally  led  to  regard  the  world  as  some- 
thing real   and   durable,   and   as   preserving   its  exist- 


OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  249 

ence,  even  when  it  is  no  longer  present  to  my  percep- 
tion. 

But,  though  this  conclusion,  from  the  coherence  of 
appearances,  may  seem  to  be  of  the  same  nature  with 
our  reasonings  concerning  causes  and  effects,  as  being 
derived  from  custom,  and  regulated  by  past  experience, 
we  shall  find,  upon  examination,  that  they  are  at  the 
bottom  considerably  different  from  each  other,  and  that 
this  inference  arises  from  the  understanding  and  from 
custdm,  in  an  indirect  and  oblique  manner.  For  it  will 
readily  be  allowed,  that  since  nothing  is  ever  really 
present  to  the  mind,  besides  its  own  perceptions,  it  is 
not  only  impossible  that  any  habit  should  ever  be 
acquired  otherwise  than  by  the  regular  succession  of 
these  perceptions,  but  also  that  any  habit  should  ever 
exceed  that  degree  of  regularity.  Any  degree,  therefore, 
of  regularity  in  our  perceptions,  can  never  be  a  founda- 
tion for  us  to  infer  a  greater  degree  of  regularity  in 
some  objects  which  are  not  perceived,  since  this  supposes 
a  contradiction,  viz.  a  habit  acquired  by  what  was  never 
present  to  the  mind.  But,  it  is  evident  that,  whenever 
we  infer  the  continued  existence  of  the  objects  of  sense 
from  their  coherence,  and  the  frequency  of  their  union, 
it  is  in  order  to  bestow  on  the  objects  a  greater  regu- 
larity than  what  is  observed  in  our  mere  perceptions. 
We  remark  a  connection  betwixt  two  kinds  of  objects 
in  their  past  appearance  to  the  senses,  but  are  not  able 
to  observe  this  connection  to  be  perfectly  constant,  since 
the  turning  about  of  our  head,  or  the  shutting  of  our 
eyes,  is  able  to  break  it.  What,  then,  do  we  suppose  in 
this  case,  but  that  these  objects  still  continue  their  usual 
connection,  notwithstanding  their  apparent  interruption, 
and  that  the  irregular  appearances  are  joined  by  some- 
thing of  which  we  are  insensible  ?     But  as  all  reasoning 

21* 


250  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

concerning  matters  of  fact  arises  only  from  custom,  and 
custom  can  only  be  the  effect  of  repeated  perceptions, 
the  extending  of  custom  and  reasoning  beyond  the  per- 
ceptions can  never  be  the  direct  and  natural  effect  of 
the  constant  repetition  and  connection,  but  must  arise 
from  the  cooperation  of  some  other  principles. 

I  have  already  observed,*  in  examining  the  founda- 
tion of  mathematics,  that  the  imagination,  when  set  into 
any  train  of  thinking,  is  apt  to  continue  even  when  its 
object  fails  it,  and,  like  a  galley  put  in  motion  by  the 
oars,  carries  on  its  course  without  any  new  impulse. 
This  I  have  assigned  for  the  reason,  why,  after  consider- 
ing several  loose  standards  of  equality,  and  correcting 
them  by  each  other,  we  proceed  to  imagine  so  correct 
and  exact  a  standard  of  that  relation  as  is  not  liable  to 
tHe  least  error  or  variation.  The  same  principle  makes 
us  easily  entertain  this  opinion  of  the  continued  exist- 
ence of  body.  Objects  have  a  certain  coherence  even 
as  they  appear  to  our  senses;  but  this  coherence  is 
much  greater  and  more  uniform  if  we  suppose  the 
objects  to  have  a  continued  existence ;  and  as  the  mind 
is  once  in  the  train  of  observing  a  uniformity  among 
objects,  it  naturally  continues  till  it  renders  the  unifor- 
mity as  complete  as  possible.  The  simple  supposition 
of  their  continued  existence  suffices  for  this  purpose, 
and  gives  us  a  notion  of  a  much  greater  regularity 
among  objects,  than  what  they  have  when  we  look  no 
further  than  our  senses. 

But  whatever  force  we  may  ascribe  to  this  principle, 
I  am  afraid  it  is  too  weak  to  support  alone  so  vast  an 
edifice  as  is  that  of  the  continued  existence  of  all  exter- 
nal bodies ;  and  that  we  must  join  the  constancy  of  their 

*  Part  II.  Sect.  4. 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  251 

appearance  to  the  coherence,  in  order  to  give  a  satisfac- 
tory account  of  that  opinion.  As  the  explication  of 
this  will  lead  me  into  a  considerable  compass  of  very 
profound  reasoning,  I  think  it  proper,  in  order  to  avoid 
confusion,  to  give  a  short  sketch  or  abridgment  of  my 
system,  and  afterwards  draw  out  all  its  parts  in  their 
full  compass.  This  inference  from  the  constancy  of  our 
perceptions,  like  the  precedent  from  their  coherence, 
gives  rise  to  the  opinion  of  the  continued  existence  of 
body,  which  is  prior  to  that  of  its  distinct  existence,  and 
produces  that  latter  principle. 

When  we  have  been  accustomed  to  observe  a  con- 
stancy in  certain  impressions,  and  have  found  that  the 
perception  of  the  sun  or  ocean,  for  instance,  returns 
upon  us,  after  an  absence  or  annihilation,  with  like  parts 
and  in  a  like  order  as  at  its  first  appearance,  we  are  not 
apt  to  regard  these  interrupted  perceptions  as  different 
(which  they  really  are),  but  on  the  contrary  consider 
them  as  individually  the  same,  upon  account  of  their 
resemblance.  But  as  this  interruption  of  their  existence 
is  contrary  to  their  perfect  identity,  and  makes  us 
regard  the  first  impression  as  annihilated,  and  the 
second  as  newly  created,  we  find  ourselves  somewhat 
at  a  loss,  and  are  involved  in  a  kind  of  contradiction. 
In  order  to  free  ourselves  from  this  difficulty,  we  dis- 
guise, as  much  as  possible,  the  interruption,  or  rather 
remove  it  entirely,  by  supposing  that  these  interrupted 
perceptions  are  connected  by  a  real  existence,  of  which 
we  are  insensible.  This  supposition,  or  idea  of  con- 
tinued existence,  acquires  a  force  and  vivacity  from  the 
memory  of  these  broken  impressions,  and  from  that 
propensity  which  they  give  us  to  suppose  them  the 
same ;  and  according  to  the  precedent  reasoning,  the 


252  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

very  essence  of  belief  consists  in  the  force  and  vivacity 
6f  the  conception. 

In  order  to  justify  this  system,  there  are  four  things 
requisite.  First,  to  explain  the  prindjrium  individuationis, 
or  principle  of  identity.  Secondly,  give  a  reason  why 
the  resemblance  of  our  broken  and  interrupted  percep- 
tions induces  us  to  attribute  an  identity  to  them. 
Thirdly,  account  for  that  propensity,  which  this  illu- 
sion gives,  to  unite  these  broken  appearances  by  a  con- 
tinued existence.  Fourthly,  and  lastly,  explain  that 
force  and  vivacity  of  conception  which  arises  from  the 
propensity. 

First,  as  to  the  principle  of  individuation,  we  may 
observe,  that  the  view  of  any  one  object  is  not  suffi- 
cient to  convey  the  idea  of  identity.  For  in  that  propo- 
sition, an  object  is  the  same  with  itself,  if  the  idea  expressed 
by  the  word  object  were  noways  distinguished  from 
that  meant  by  itself ;  we  really  should  mean  nothing, 
nor  would  the  proposition  contain  a  predicate  and  a 
subject,  which,  however,  are  implied  in  this  affirmation. 
One  single  object  conveys  the  idea  of  unity,  not  that  of 
identity. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  multiplicity  of  objects  can  never 
convey  this  idea,  however  resembling  they  may  be  sup- 
posed. The  mind  always  pronounces  the  one  not  to  be 
the  other,  and  considers  them  as  forming  two,  three,  or 
any  determinate  number  of  objects,  whose  existences 
are  entirely  distinct  and  independent. 

Since  then  both  number  and  unity  are  incompatible 
with  the  relation  of  identity,  it  must  lie  in  something 
that  is  neither  of  them.  But  to  tell  the  truth,  at  first 
sight  this  seems  utterly  impossible.  Betwixt  unity  and 
number  there  can  be  no  medium  ;  no  more  than  betwixt 


OF   THE  UNDERSTANDING.  253 

existence  and  non-existence.  After  one  object  is  sup- 
posed to  exist,  we  must  either  suppose  another  also  to 
exist ;  in  which  case  we  have  the  idea  of  number :  or 
we  must  suppose  it  not  to  exist ;  in  which  case  the  first 
object  remains  at  unity. 

To  remove  this  difficulty,  let  us  have  recourse  to  the 
idea  of  time  or  duration.  I  have  already  observed,* 
that  time,  in  a  strict  sense,  implies  succession,  and  that, 
when  we  apply  its  idea  to  any  unchangeable  object,  it 
is  only  by  a  fiction  of  the  imagination  by  which  the 
unchangeable  object  is  supposed  to  participate  of  the 
changes  of  the  coexisting  objects,  and  in  particular  of 
that  of  our  perceptions.  This  fiction  of  the  imagination 
almost  universally  takes  place  ;  and  it  is  by  means  of  it 
that  a  single  object,  placed  before  us,  and  surveyed  for 
any  time  without  our  discovering  in  it  any  interruption 
or  variation,  is  able  to  give  us  a  notion  of  identity.  For 
when  we  consider  any  two  points  of  this  time,  we  may 
place  them  in  different  lights :  we  may  either  survey 
them  at  the  very  same  instant ;  in  which  case  they  give 
us  the  idea  of  number,  both  by  themselves  and  by  the 
object;  which  must  be  multiplied  in  order  to  be  con- 
ceived at  once,  as  existent  in  these  two  different  points 
of  time :  or,  on  the  other  hand,  we  may  trace  the  suc- 
cession of  time  by  a  like  succession  of  ideas,  and  con- 
ceiving first  one  moment,  along  with  the  object  then 
existent,  imagine  afterwards  a  change  in  the  time  with- 
out any  variation  or  interriqrtion  in  the  object ;  in  which 
case  it  gives  us  the  idea  of  unity.  Here  then  is  an  idea, 
which  is  a  medium  betwixt  unity  and  number ;  or,  more 
properly  speaking,  is  either  of  them,  according  to  the 
view  in  which  we  take  it :  and  this  idea  we  call  that  of 

*  Part  II.  Sect.  5. 


254  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

identity.  We  cannot,  in  any  propriety  of  speech,  say 
that  an  object  is  the  same  with  itself,  unless  we  mean 
that  the  object  existent  at  one  time  is  the  same  with 
itself  existent  at  another.  By  this  means  we  make  a 
difference  betwixt  the  idea  meant  by  the  word  object, 
and  that  meant  by  itself,  without  going  the  length  of 
number,  and  at  the  same  time  without  restraining  our- 
selves to  a  strict  and  absolute  unity. 

Thus  the  principle  of  individuation  is  nothing  but  the 
invariableness  and  iininterruptedness  of  any  object,  through 
a  supposed  variation  of  time,  by  which  the  mind  can 
trace  it  in  the  different  periods  of  its  existence,  without 
any  break  of  the  view,  and  without  being  obliged  to 
form  the  idea  of  multiplicity  or  number. 

I  now  proceed  to  explain  the  second  part  of  my 
system,  and  show  why  the  constancy  of  our  percep- 
tions makes  us  ascribe  to  them  a  perfect  numerical  iden- 
tity, though  there  be  very  long  intervals  betwixt  their 
appearance,  and  they  have  only  one  of  the  essential 
qualities  of  identity,  viz.  invariableness.  That  I  may 
avoid  all  ambiguity  and  confusion  on  this  head,  I  shall 
observe,  that  I  here  account  for  the  opinions  and  belief 
of  the  vulgar  with  regard  to  the  existence  of  body ; 
and  therefore  must  entirely  conform  myself  to  their 
manner  of  thinking  and  of  expressing  themselves. 
Now,  we  have  already  observed,  that  however  philoso- 
phers may  distinguish  betwixt  the  objects  and  percep- 
tions of  the  senses ;  which  they  suppose  coexistent  and 
resembling ;  yet  this  is  a  distinction  which  is  not  com- 
prehended by  the  generality  of  mankind,  who,  as  they 
perceive  only  one  being,  can  never  assent  to  the  opinion 
of  a  double  existence  and  representation.  Those  very 
sensations  which  enter  by  the  eye  or  ear  are  with  them 
the  true  objects,  nor  can  they  readily  conceive  that  this 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  255 

pen  or  paper,  which  is  immediately  perceived,  represents 
another  which  is  different  from,  but  resembling  it.  In 
order,  therefore,  to  accommodate  myself  to  their  notions, 
I  shall  at  first  suppose  that  there  is  only  a  single  exist- 
ence, which  I  shall  call  indifferently  object  or  perception, 
according  as  it  shall  seem  best  to  suit  my  purpose, 
understanding  by.  both  of  them  what  any  common  man 
means  by  a  hat,  or  shoe,  or  stone,  or  any  other  impres- 
sion conveyed  to  him  by  his  senses.  I  shall  be  sure  to 
give  warning  when  I  return  to  a  more  philosophical  way 
of  speaking  and  thinking. 

To  enter  therefore  upon  the  question  concerning  the 
source  of  the  error  and  deception  with  regard  to  iden- 
tity, when  we  attribute  it  to  our  resembling  perceptions, 
notwithstanding  their  interruption,  I  must  here  recall  an 
observation  which  I  have  already  proved  and  explained* 
Nothing  is  more  apt  to  make  us  mistake  one  idea  for 
another,  than  any  relation  betwixt  them,  which  asso- 
ciates them  together  in  the  imagination,  and  makes  it 
pass  with  facility  from  one  to  the  other.  Of  all  rela- 
tions, that  of  resemblance  is  in  this  respect  the  most 
efficacious ;  and  that  because  it  not  only  causes  an  asso- 
ciation of  ideas,  but  also  of  dispositions,  and  makes  us 
conceive  the  one  idea  by  an  act  or  operation  of  the 
mind,  similar  to  that  by  which  we  conceive  the  other. 
This  circumstance  I  have  observed  to  be  of  great 
moment ;  and  we  may  establish  it  for  a  general  rule, 
that  whatever  ideas  place  the  mind  in  the  same  disposi- 
tion or  in  similar  ones,  are  very  apt  to  be  confounded. 
The  mind  readily  passes  from  one  to  the  other,  and  j)er- 
ceives  not  the  change  without  a  strict  attention,  of 
which,  generally  speaking,  it  is  wholly  incapable. 

*  Part  II.  Sect.  5. 


256  OF  THE  UNDERSTANDING. 

In  order  to  apply  this  general  maxim,  we  must  first 
examine  the  disposition  of  the  mind  in  viewing  any 
object  which  preserves  a  perfect  identity,  and  then  find 
some  other  object  that  is  confounded  with  it,  by  causing 
a  similar  disposition.  When  we  fix  our  thought  on 
any  object,  and  suppose  it  to  continue  the  same  for  some 
time,  it  is  evident  we  suppose  the  change  to  lie  only  in 
the  time,  and  never  exert  ourselves  to  produce  any  new 
image  or  idea  of  the  object.  The  faculties  of  the  mind 
repose  themselves  in  a  manner,  and  take  no  more  exer- 
cise than  what  is  necessary  to  continue  that  idea  of 
which  we  were  formerly  possessed,  and  which  subsists 
without  variation  or  interruption.  The  passage  from 
one  moment  to  another  is  scarce  felt,  and  distinguishes 
not  itself  by  a  different  perception  or  idea,  which  may 
require  a  different  direction  of  the  spirits,  in  order  to  its 
conception. 

Now,  what  other  objects,  beside  indentical  ones,  are 
capable  of  placing  the  mind  in  the  same  disposition, 
when  it  considers  them,  and  of  causing  the  same  unin- 
terrupted passage  of  the  imagination  from  one  idea  to 
another  ?  This  question  is  of  the  last  importance.  For 
if  we  can  find  any  such  objects,  we  may  certainly  con- 
clude, from  the  foregoing  principle,  that  they  are  very 
naturally  confounded  with  identical  ones,  and  are  taken 
for  them  in  most  of  our  reasonings.  But  though  this 
question  be  very  important,  it  is  not  very  difficult  nor 
doubtful.  For  I  immediately  reply,  that  a  succession  of 
related  objects  places  the  mind  in  this  disposition,  and  is 
considered  with  the  same  smooth  and  uninterrupted 
progress  of  the  imagination,  as  attends  the  view  of  the 
same  invariable  object.  The  very  nature  and  essence 
of  relation  is  to  connect  our  ideas  with  each  other,  and 
upon  the  appearance  of  one,  to  facilitate  the  transition 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  257 

to  its  correlative.  The  passage  betwixt  related  ideas  is 
therefore  so  smooth  and  easy,  that  it  produces  little 
alteration  on  the  mind,  and  seems  like  the  continuation 
of  the  same  action ;  and  as  the  continuation  of  the 
same  action  is  an  effect  of  the  continued  view  of  the 
same  object,  it  is  for  this  reason  we  attribute  sameness 
to  every  succession  of  related  objects.  The  thought 
slides  along  the  succession  with  equal  facility,  as  if  it 
considered  only  one  object;  and  therefore  confounds 
the  succession  with  the  identity. 

We  shall  afterwards  see  many  instances  of  this  ten- 
dency of  relation  to  make  us  ascribe  an  identity  to  differ- 
ent objects ;  but  shall  here  confine  ourselves  to  the  pres- 
ent subject.  We  find  by  experience,  that  there  is  such 
a  constancy  in  almost  all  the  impressions  of  the  senses, 
that  their  interruption  produces  no  alteration  on  them, 
and  hinders  them  not  from  returning  the  same  in 
appearance  and  in  situation  as  at  their  first  existence. 
I  survey  the  furniture  of  my  chamber ;  I  shut  my  eyes, 
and  afterwards  open  them ;  and  find  the  new  perceptions 
to  resemble  perfectly  those  which  formerly  struck  my 
senses.  This  resemblance  is  observed  in  a  thousand 
instances,  and  naturally  connects  together  our  ideas  of 
these  interrupted  perceptions  by  the  strongest  relation, 
and  conveys  the  mind  with  an  easy  transition  from  one 
to  another.  An  easy  transition  or  passage  of  the  ima- 
gination, along  the  ideas  of  these  different  and  interrupted 
perceptions,  is  almost  the  same  disposition  of  mind  with 
that  in  which  we  consider  one  constant  and  uninter- 
rupted perception.  It  is  therefore  very  natural  for  us- 
to  mistake  the  one  for  the  other* 

*  This  reasoning,  it  must  be  confessed,  is  somewhat  abstruse,  and  difficult  to 
be  comprehended ;  but  it  is  remarkable,  that  this  very  difficulty  may  be  con- 
verted into  a  proof  of  the  reasoning.     We  may  observe,  that  there  are  two* 

VOL.  I.  22 


258  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

The  persons  who  entertain  this  opinion  concerning 
the  identity  of  our  resembling  perceptions,  are  in  gene- 
ral all  the  unthinking  and  unphilosophical  part  of  man- 
kind, (that  is,  all  of  us  at  one  time  or  other,)  and, 
consequently,  such  as  suppose  their  perceptions  to  be 
their  only  objects,  and  never  think  of  a  double  existence 
internal  and  external,  representing  and  represented. 
The  very  image  which  is  present  to  the  senses  is  with  us 
the  real  body ;  and  it  is  to  these  interrupted  images  we 
ascribe  a  perfect  identity.  But  as  the  interruption  of 
the  appearance  seems  contrary  to  the  identity,  and 
naturally  leads  us  to  regard  these  resembling  perceptions 
as  different  from  each  other,  we  here  find  ourselves  at  a 
loss  how  to  reconcile  such  opposite  opinions.  The 
smooth  passage  of  the  imagination  along  the  ideas  of 
the  resembling  perceptions  makes  us  ascribe  to  them  a 
perfect  identity.  The  interrupted  manner  of  their 
appearance  makes  us  consider  them  as  so  many  resem- 
bling, but  still  distinct  beings,  which  appear  after  certain 
intervals.  The  perplexity  arising  from  this  contradic- 
tion produces  a  propension  to  unite  these  broken  appear- 
ances by  the  fiction  of  a  continued  existence,  which  is 
the  third  part  of  that  hypothesis  I  proposed  to  explain. 

Nothing  is  more  certain  from  experience  than  that 
any  contradiction  either  to  the  sentiments  or  passions 
gives  a  sensible  uneasiness,  whether  it  proceeds  from 
without  or  from  within ;  from  the  opposition  of  external 

relations,  and  both  of  them  resemblances,  which  contribute  to  our  mistaking 
the  succession  of  our  interrupted  perceptions  for  an  identical  object.  The 
first  is,  the  resemblance  of  the  perceptions :  the  second  is,  the  resemblance 
■which  the  act  of  the  mind,  in  surveying  a  succession  of  resembling  objects, 
bears  to  that  in  surveying  an  identical  object.  Now  these  resemblances  we 
are  apt  to  confound  with  each  other ;  and  it  is  natural  we  should,  according 
to  this  very  reasoning.  But  let  us  keep  them  distinct,  and  we  shall  find  no 
difficulty  in  conceiving  the  precedent  argument. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  259 

objects,  or  from  the  combat  of  internal  principles.  On 
the  contrary,  whatever  strikes  in  with  the  natural  pro- 
pensities, and  either  externally  forwards  their  satisfac- 
tion, or  internally  concurs  with  their  movements,  is  sure 
to  give  a  sensible  pleasure.  Now,  there  being  here  an 
opposition  betwixt  the  notion  of  the  identity  of  resem- 
bling perceptions,  and  the  interruption  of  their  appear- 
ance, the  mind  must  be  uneasy  in  that  situation,  and  will 
naturally  seek  relief  from  the  uneasiness.  Since  the 
uneasiness  arises  from  the  opposition  of  two  contrary 
principles,  it  must  look  for  relief  by  sacrificing  the  one 
to  the  other.  But  as  the  smooth  passage  of  our  thought 
along  our  resembling  perceptions  makes  us  ascribe  to 
them  an  identity,  we  can  never,  without  reluctance, 
yield  up  that  opinion.  We  must  therefore  turn  to  the 
other  side,  and  suppose  that  our  perceptions  are  no 
longer  interrupted,  but  preserve  a  continued  as  well  as 
an  invariable  existence,  and  are  by  that  means  entirely 
the  same.  But  here  the  interruptions  in  the  appearance 
of  these  perceptions  are  so  long  and  frequent,  that  it  is 
impossible  to  overlook  them ;  and  as  the  appearance  of  a 
perception  in  the  mind  and  its  existence  seem  at  first 
sight  entirely  the  same,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  we 
can  ever  assent  to  so  palpable  a  contradiction,  and  sup- 
pose a  perception  to  exist  without  being  present  to  the 
mind.  In  order  to  clear  up  this  matter,  and  learn  how 
the  interruption  in  the  appearance  of  a  perception 
implies  not  necessarily  an  interruption  in  its  existence, 
it  will  be  proper  to  touch  upon  some  principles  which 
we  shall  have  occasion  to  explain  more  fully  afterwards.* 
We  may  begin  with  observing,  that  the  difficulty  in 
the  present  case  is  not  concerning  the  matter  of  fact,  or 
whether  the  mind  forms  such  a  conclusion  concerning 

*  Seet.  6. 


260  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

the  continued  existence  of  its  perceptions,  but  only  con- 
cerning the  manner  in  which  the  conclusion  is  formed, 
and  principles  from  which  it  is  derived.  It  is  certain 
that  almost  all  mankind,  and  even  philosophers  them- 
selves, for  the  greatest  part  of  their  lives,  take  their  per- 
ceptions to  be  their  only  objects,  and  suppose  that  the 
very  being  which  is  intimately  present  to  the  mind,  is 
the  real  body  or  material  existence.  It  is  also  certain 
that  this  very  perception  or  object  is  supposed  to  have  a 
continued  uninterrupted  being,  and  neither  to  be  anni- 
hilated by  our  absence,  nor  to  be  brought  into  existence 
by  our  presence.  When  we  are  absent  from  it,  we  say 
it  still  exists,  but  that  we  do  not  feel,  we  do  not  see  it. 
"When  we  are  present,  we  say  we  feel  or  see  it.  Here 
then  may  arise  two  questions ;  first,  how  we  can  satisfy 
ourselves  in  supposing  a  perception  to  be  absent  from 
the  mind  without  being  annihilated.  Secondly,  after  what 
manner  we  conceive  an  object  to  become  present  to  the 
mind,  without  some  new  creation  of  a  perception  or 
image ;  and  what  we  mean  by  this  seeing,  and  feeling,  and 
perceiving. 

As  to  the  first  question,  we  may  observe,  that  what 
we  call  a  mind,  is  nothing  but  a  heap  or  collection  of 
different  perceptions,  united  together  by  certain  rela- 
tions, and  supposed,  though  falsely,  to  be  endowed  with 
a  perfect  simplicity  and  identity.  Now,  as  every  per- 
ception is  distinguishable  from  another,  and  may  be 
considered  as  separately  existent ;  it  evidently  follows, 
that  there  is  no  absurdity  in  separating  any  particular 
perception  from  the  mind ;  that  is,  in  breaking  off  all 
its  relations  with  that  connected  mass  of  perceptions 
which  constitute  a  thinking  being. 

The  same  reasoning  affords  us  an  answer  to  the 
second  question.     If  the  name  of  perception  renders  not 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  261 

this  separation  from  a  mind  absurd  and  contradictory, 
the  name  of  object,  standing  for  the  same  tinhg,  can 
never  render  their  conjunction  impossible.  External 
objects  are  seen  and  felt,  and  become  present  to  the 
mind ;  that  is,  they  acquire  such  a  relation  to  a  con- 
nected heap  of  perceptions  as  to  influence  them  very 
considerably  in  augmenting  their  number  by  present 
reflections  and  passions,  and  in  storing  the  memory  with 
ideas.  The  same  continued  and  uninterrupted  being 
may,  therefore,  be  sometimes  present  to  the  mind  and 
sometimes  absent  from  it  without  any  real  or  essential 
change  in  the  being  itself.  An  interrupted  appearance 
to  the  senses  implies  not  necessarily  an  interruption  in 
the  existence.  The  supposition  of  the  continued  exist- 
ence of  sensible  objects  or  perceptions  involves  no  con- 
tradiction. We  may  easily  indulge  our  inclination  to 
that  supposition.  When  the  exact  resemblance  of  our 
perceptions  makes  us  ascribe  to  them  an  identity,  we 
may  remove  the  seeming  interruption  by  feigning  a 
continued  being,  which  may  fill  those  intervals,  and 
preserve  a  perfect  and  entire  identity  to  our  percep- 
tions. 

But  as  we  here  not  only  feign  but  believe  this  con- 
tinued existence,  the  question  is,  from  whence  arises  such 
a  belief?  and  this  question  leads  us  to  the  fourth  mem- 
ber of  this  system.  It  has  been  proved  already,  that 
belief,  in  general,  consists  in  nothing  but  the  vivacity  of 
an  idea ;  and  that  an  idea  may  acquire  this  vivacity  by 
its  relation  to  some  present  impression.  Impressions 
are  naturally  the  most  vivid  perceptions  of  the  mind ; 
and  this  quality  is  in  part  conveyed  by  the  relation  to 
every  connected  idea.  The  relation  causes  a  smooth 
passage  from  the  impression  to  the  idea,  and  even  gives 
a  propensity  to  that  passage.     The  mind  falls  so  easily 

22* 


262  OF   THE  UNDERSTANDING. 

from  the  one  perception  to  the  other,  that  it  scarce  per- 
ceives the  change,  but  retains  in  the  second  a  consider- 
able share  of  the  vivacity  of  the  first.  It  is  excited  by 
the  lively  impression,  and  this  vivacity  is  conveyed  to 
the  related  idea,  without  any  great  diminution  in  the 
passage,  by  reason  of  the  smooth  transition  and  the  pro- 
pensity of  the  imagination. 

But  suppose  that  this  propensity  arises  from  some  other 
principle,  besides  that  of  relation  ;  it  is  evident  it  must 
still  have  the  same  effect,  and  convey  the  vivacity  from 
the  impression  to  the  idea.  Now,  this  is  exactly  the  pres- 
ent case.  Our  memory  presents  us  with  a  vast  number  of 
instances  of  perceptions  perfectly  resembling  each  other, 
that  return  at  different  distances  of  time,  after  consider- 
able interruptions.  This  resemblance  gives  us  a  propen- 
sion  to  consider  these  interrupted  perceptions  as  the 
same ;  and  also  a  propension  to  connect  them  by  a  con- 
tinued existence,  in  order  to  justify  this  identity,  and 
avoid  the  contradiction  in  which  the  interrupted  ap- 
pearance of  these  perceptions  seems  necessarily  to  involve 
us.  Here  then  we  have  a  propensity  to  feign  the  con- 
tinued existence  of  all  sensible  objects ;  and  as  this  pro- 
pensity arises  from  some  lively  impressions  of  the  mem- 
ory, it  bestows  a  vivacity  on  that  fiction ;  or,  in  other 
words,  makes  us  believe  the  continued  existence  of 
body.  If,  sometimes  we  ascribe  a  continued  existence 
to  objects,  which  are  perfectly  new  to  us,  and  of  whose 
constancy  and  coherence  we  have  no  experience,  it  is 
because  the  manner,  in  which  they  present  themselves 
to  our  senses,  resembles  that  of  constant  and  coherent 
objects ;  and  this  resemblance  is  a  source  of  reasoning 
and  analogy,  and  leads  us  to  attribute  the  same  quali- 
ties to  the  similar  objects. 

I  believe  an  intelligent  reader  will  find  less  difficulty 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  263 

to  assent  to  this  system,  than  to  comprehend  it  fully 
and  distinctly,  and  will  allow,  after  a  little  reflection, 
that  every  part  carries  its  own  proof  along  with  it.  It 
is  indeed  evident,  that  as  the  vulgar  suppose,  their  per- 
ceptions to  be  their  only  objects,  and  at  the  same  time 
believe  the  continued  existence  of  matter,  we  must 
account  for  the  origin  of  the  belief  upon  that  supposi- 
tion. Now,  upon  that  supposition,  it  is  a  false  opinion 
that  any  of  our  objects,  or  perceptions,  are  identically, 
the  same  after  an  interruption ;  and  consequently  the 
opinion  of  their  identity  can  never  arise  from  reason, 
but  must  arise  from  the  imagination.  The  imagination 
is  seduced  into  such  an  opinion  only  by  means  of  the 
resemblance  of  certain  perceptions ;  since  we  find  they 
are  only  our  resembling  perceptions,  which  we  have  a 
propension  to  suppose  the  same.  This  propension  to 
bestow  an  identity  on  our  resembling  perceptions,  pro- 
duces the  fiction  of  a  continued  existence ;  since  that 
fiction,  as  well  as  the  identity,  is  really  false,  as  is  ac- 
knowledged by  all  philosophers,  and  has  no  other  effect 
than  to  remedy  the  interruption  of  our  perceptions, 
which  is  the  only  circumstance  that  is  contrary  to  their 
identity.  In  the  last  place,  this  propension  causes  belief 
by  means  of  the  present  impressions  of  the  memory ; 
since,  without  the  remembrance  of  former  sensations, 
it  is  plain  we  never  should  have  any  belief  of  the  con- 
tinued existence  of  body.  Thus,  in  examining  all 
these  parts,  we  find  that  each  of  them  is  supported  by 
the  strongest  proofs;  and  that  all  of  them  together 
form  a  consistent  system,  which  is  perfectly  convincing. 
A  strong  propensity  or  inclination  alone,  without  any 
present  impression,  will  sometimes  cause  a  belief  or 
opinion.  How  much  more  when  aided  by  that  circum- 
stance ! 


264  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

But  though  we  are  led  after  this  manner,  by  the 
natural  propensity  of  the  imagination,  to  ascribe  a  con- 
tinued existence  to  those  sensible  objects  or  perceptions, 
which  we  find  to  resemble  each  other  in  their  inter- 
rupted appearance ;  yet  a  very  little  reflection  and  phi- 
losophy is  sufficient  to  make  us  perceive  the  fallacy  of 
that  opinion.  I  have  already  observed,  that  there  is  an 
intimate  connection  betwixt  those  two  principles,  of  a 
continued  and  of  a  distinct  or  independent  existence,  and 
that  we  no  sooner  establish  the  one  than  the  other  fol- 
lows, as  a  necessary  consequence.  It  is  the  opinion  of  a 
continued  existence,  which  first  takes  place,  and  without 
much  study  or  reflection  draws  the  other  along  with  it, 
wherever  the  mind  follows  its  first  and  most  natural  ten- 
dency. But  when  we  compare  experiments,  and  reason 
a  little  upon  them,  we  quickly  perceive,  that  the  doc- 
trine of  the  independent  existence  of  our  sensible  per- 
ceptions is  contrary  to  the  plainest  experience.  This 
leads  us  backward  upon  our  footsteps  to  perceive  our 
error  in  attributing  a  continued  existence  to  our  percep- 
tions, and  is  the  origin  of  many  very  curious  opinions, 
which  we  shall  here  endeavor  to  account  for. 

It  will  first  be  proper  to  observe  a  few  of  those  exper- 
iments, which  convince  us  that  our  perceptions  are  not 
possessed  of  any  independent  existence.  When  we 
press  one  eye  with  a  finger,  we  immediately  perceive  all 
the  objects  to  become  double,  and  one  half  of  them  to 
be  removed  from  their  common  and  natural  position. 
But  as  we  do  not  attribute  a  continued  existence  to 
both  these  perceptions,  and  as  they  are  both  of  the 
same  nature,  we  clearly  perceive,  that  all  our  percep- 
tions are  dependent  on  our  organs,  and  the  disposition 
of  our  nerves  and  animal  spirits.  This  opinion  is  con- 
firmed  by   the   seeming    increase   and    diminution   of 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  265 

objects  according  to  their  distance ;  by  the  apparent 
alterations  in  their  figure ;  by  the  changes  in  their 
color  and  other  qualities,  from  our  sickness  and  distem- 
pers, and  by  an  infinite  number  of  other  experiments  of 
the  same  kind ;  from  all  which  we  learn,  that  our  sensi- 
ble perceptions  are  not  possessed  of  any  distinct  or  inde- 
pendent existence. 

The  natural  consequence  of  this  reasoning  should  be, 
that  our  perceptions  have  no  more  a  continued  than  an 
independent  existence ;  and,  indeed,  philosophers  have 
so  far  run  into  this  opinion,  that  they  change  their  sys- 
tem, and  distinguish  (as  we  shall  do  for  the  future) 
betwixt  perceptions  and  objects,  of  which  the  former  are 
supposed  to  be  interrupted  and  perishing,  and  different 
at  every  different  return ;  the  latter  to  be  uninterrupted, 
and  to  preserve  a  continued  existence  and  identity.  But 
however  philosophical  this  new  system  may  be  esteemed, 
I  assert  that  it  is  only  a  palliative  remedy,  and  that  it 
contains  all  the  difficulties  of  the  vulgar  system,  with 
some  others  that  are  peculiar  to  itself.  There  are  no 
principles  either  of  the  understanding  or  fancy,  which 
lead  us  directly  to  embrace  this  opinion  of  the  double 
existence  of  perceptions  and  objects,  nor  can  we  arrive 
at  it  but  by  passing  through  the  common  hypothesis  of 
the  identity  and  continuance  of  our  interrupted  percep- 
tions. Were  we  not  first  persuaded  that  our  perceptions 
are  our  only  objects,  and  continue  to  exist  even  when 
they  no  longer  make  their  appearance  to  the  senses,  we 
should  never  be  led  to  think  that  our  perceptions  and 
objects  are  different,  and  that  our  objects  alone  preserve 
a  continued  existence.  u  The  latter  hypothesis  has  no 
primary  recommendation  either  to  reason  or  the  imagi- 
nation, but  acquires  all  its  influence  on  the  imagination 
from  the  former."     This  proposition  contains  two  parts, 


266  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

which  we  shall   endeavor   to  prove  as  distinctly  and 
clearly  as  such  abstruse  subjects  will  permit. 

As  to  the  first  part  of  the  proposition,  that  his  philo- 
sophical hypothesis  has  no  primary  recommendation,  either  to 
reason  or  the  imagination,  we  may  soon  satisfy  ourselves 
with  regard  to  reason,  by  the  following  reflections.  The 
only  existences,  of  which  we  are  certain,  are  percep- 
tions, which,  being  immediately  present  to  us  by  con- 
sciousness, command  our  strongest  assent,  and  are  the 
first  foundation  of  all  our  conclusions.  The  only  conclu- 
sion we  can  draw  from  the  existence  of  one  thing  to 
that  of  another,  is  by  means  of  the  relation  of  cause 
and  effect,  which  shows,  that  there  is  a  connection 
betwixt  them,  and  that  the  existence  of  one  is  dependent 
on  that  of  the  other.  The  idea  of  this  relation  is  derived 
from  past  experience,  by  which  we  find,  that  two  beings 
are  constantly  conjoined  together,  and  are  always  present 
at  once  to  the  mind.  But  as  no  beings  are  ever  present 
to  the  mind  but  perceptions,  it  follows,  that  we  may 
observe  a  conjunction  or  a  relation  of  cause  and  effect 
between  different  perceptions,  but  can  never  observe  it 
between  perceptions  and  objects.  It  is  impossible,  there- 
fore, that  from  the  existence  or  any  of  the  qualities  of 
the  former,  we  can  ever  form  any  conclusion  concerning 
the  existence  of  the  latter,  or  ever  satisfy  our  reason  in 
this  particular. 

It  is  no  less  certain,  that  this  philosophical  system  has 
no  primary  recommendation  to  the  imagination,  and  that 
that  faculty  would  never,  of  itself,  and  by  its  original 
tendency,  have  fallen  upon  such  a  principle.  I  confess 
it  will  be  somewhat  difficult  to  prove  this  to  the  full 
satisfaction  of  the  reader ;  because  it  implies  a  negative, 
which  in  many  cases  will  not  admit  of  any  positive 
proof.     If  any  one  would  take  the  pains  to  examine  this 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  267 

question,  and  would  invent  a  system,  to  account  for  the 
direct  origin  of  this  opinion  from  the  imagination,  we 
should  be  able,  by  the  examination  of  that  system,  to 
pronounce  a  certain  judgment  in  the  present  subject. 
Let  it  be  taken  for  granted,  that  our  perceptions  are 
broken  and  interrupted,  and,  however  like,  are  still  dif- 
ferent from  each  other ;  and  let  any  one,  upon  this  sup- 
position, show  why  the  fancy,  directly  and  immediately, 
proceeds  to  the  belief  of  another  existence,  resembling 
these  perceptions  in  their  nature,  but  yet  continued,  and 
uninterrupted,  and  identical ;  and  after  he  has  done  this 
to  my  satisfaction,  I  promise  to  renounce  my  present 
opinion.  Meanwhile  I  cannot  forbear  concluding,  from 
the  very  abstractedness  and  difficulty  of  the  first  suppo- 
sition, that  it  is  an  improper  subject  for  the  fancy  to 
work  upon.  Whoever  would  explain  the  origin  of  the 
common  opinion  concerning  the  continued  and  distinct 
existence  of  body,  must  take  the  mind  in  its  common  situ- 
ation, and  must  proceed  upon  the  supposition,  that  our 
perceptions  are  our  only  objects,  and  continue  to  exist 
even  when  they  are  not  perceived.  Though  this  opinion 
be  false,  it  is  the  most  natural  of  any,  and  has  alone  any 
primary  recommendation  to  the  fancy. 

As  to  the  second  part  of  the  proposition,  that  the  philo- 
sophical system  acquires  all  its  influence  on  the  imagination  from 
the  vulgar  one  ;  we  may  observe,  that  this  is  a  natural  and 
unavoidable  consequence  of  the  foregoing  conclusion, 
that  it  has  no  primary  recommendation  to  reason  or  the  imagi- 
nation. For  as  the  philosophical  system  is  found  by 
experience  to  take  hold  of  many  minds,  and,  in  particu- 
lar, of  all  those  who  reflect  ever  so  little  on  this  subject, 
it  must  derive  all  its  authority  from  the  vulgar  system, 
since  it  has  no  original  authority  of  its  own.     The  man- 


268  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

ner  in  which  these  two  systems,  though  directly  contrary, 
are  connected  together,  may  be  explained  as  follows. 

The  imagination  naturally  runs  on  in  this  train  of 
thinking.  Our  perceptions  are  our  only  objects :  resem- 
bling perceptions  are  the  same,  however  broken  or 
uninterrupted  in  their  appearance  :  this  appearing  inter- 
ruption is  contrary  to  the  identity  :  the  interruption 
consequently  extends  not  beyond  the  appearance,  and 
the  perception  or  object  really  continues  to  exist,  even 
when  absent  from  us:  our  sensible  perceptions  have, 
therefore,  a  continued  and  uninterrupted  existence.  But 
as  a  little  reflection  destroys  this  conclusion,  that  our 
perceptions  have  a  continued  existence,  by  showing  that 
they  have  a  dependent  one,  it  would  naturally  be 
expected,  that  we  must  altogether  reject  the  opinion, 
that  there  is  such  a  thing  in  nature  as  a  continued  exist- 
ence, which  is  preserved  even  when  it  no  longer  appears 
to  the  senses.  The  case,  however,  is  otherwise.  Philo- 
sophers are  so  far  from  rejecting  the  opinion  of  a  con- 
tinued existence  upon  rejecting  that  of  the  independence 
and  continuance  of  our  sensible  perceptions,  that  though 
all  sects  agree  in  the  latter  sentiment,  the  former,  which 
is  in  a  manner  its  necessary  consequence,  has  been 
peculiar  to  a  few  extravagant  sceptics ;  who,  after  all, 
maintained  that  opinion  in  words  only,  and  were  never 
able  to  bring  themselves  sincerely  to  believe  it. 

There  is  a  great  difference  betwixt  such  opinions  as 
we  form  after  a  calm  and  profound  reflection,  and  such 
as  we  embrace  by  a  kind  of  instinct  or  natural  impulse, 
on  account  of  their  suitableness  and  conformity  to  the 
mind.  If  these  opinions  become  contrary,  it  is  not  dif- 
ficult to  foresee  which  of  them  will  have  the  advantage. 
As  long  as  our  attention  is  bent  upon  the  subject,  the 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  269 

philosophical  and  studied  principle  may  prevail ;  but  the 
moment  we  relax  our  thoughts,  nature  will  display  her- 
self, and  draw  us  back  to  our  former  opinion.  Nay  she 
has  sometimes  such  an  influence,  that  she  can  stop  our 
progress,  even  in  the  midst  of  our  most  profound  reflec- 
tions, and  keep  us  from  running  on  with  all  the  conse- 
quences of  any  philosophical  opinion.  Thus,  though  we 
clearly  perceive  the  dependence  and  interruption  of  our 
perceptions,  we  stop  short  in  our  career,  and  never  upon 
that  account  reject  the  notion  of  an  independent  and 
continued  existence.  That  opinion  has  taken  such  deep 
root  in  the  imagination,  that  it  is  impossible  ever  to 
eradicate  it,  nor  will  any  strained  metaphysical  convic- 
tion of  the  dependence  of  our  perceptions  be  sufficient 
for  that  purpose. 

But  though  our  natural  and  obvious  principles  here 
prevail  above  our  studied  reflections,  it  is  certain  there 
must  be  some  struggle  and  opposition  in  this  case ;  at 
least  so  long  as  these  reflections  retain  any  force  or 
vivacity.  In  order  to  set  ourselves  at  ease  in  this  par- 
ticular, we  contrive  a  new  hypothesis,  which  seems  to 
comprehend  both  these  principles  of  reason  and  imagi- 
nation. This  hypothesis  is  the  philosophical  one  of  the 
double  existence  of  perceptions  and  objects ;  which 
pleases  our  reason,  in  allowing  that  our  dependent  per- 
ceptions are  interrupted  and  different,  and  at  the  same 
time  is  agreeable  to  the  imagination,  in  attributing  a 
continued  existence  to  something  else,  which  we  call 
objects.  This  philosophical  system,  therefore,  is  the  mon- 
strous offspring  of  two  principles,  which  are  contrary  to 
each  other,  which  are  both  at  once  embraced  by  the 
mind,  and  which  are  unable  mutually  to  destroy  each 
other.  The  imagination  tells  us,  that  our  resembling 
perceptions  have  a  continued  and  uninterrupted  exist- 

vol.  i.  23 


270  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

ence,  and  are  not  annihilated  by  their  absence.  Reflec- 
tion tells  us,  that  even  our  resembling  perceptions  are 
interrupted  in  their  existence,  and  different  from  each 
other.  The  contradiction  betwixt  these  opinions  we 
elude  by  a  new  fiction,  which  is  conformable  to  the 
hypothesis  both  of  reflection  and  fancy,  by  ascribing 
these  contrary  qualities  to  different  existences;  the 
interruption  to  perceptions,  and  the  continuance  to  objects. 
Nature  is  obstinate,  and  will  not  quit  the  field,  however 
strongly  attacked  by  reason ;  and  at  the  same  time 
reason  is  so  clear  in  the  point,  that  there  is  no  pos- 
sibility of  disguising  her.  Not  being  able  to  reconcile 
these  two  enemies,  we  endeavor  to  set  ourselves  at  ease 
as  much  as  possible,  by  successively  granting  to  each 
whatever  it  demands,  and  by  feigning  a  double  exist- 
ence, where  each  may  find  something  that  has  all  the 
conditions  it  desires.  Were  we  fully  convinced  that 
our  resembling  perceptions  are  continued,  and  identical, 
and  independent,  we  should  never  run  into  this  opinion 
of  a  double  existence ;  since  we  should  find  satisfaction 
in  our  first  supposition,  and  would  not  look  beyond. 
Again,  were  we  fully  convinced  that  our  perceptions 
are  dependent,  and  interrupted,  and  different,  we 
should  be  as  little  inclined  to  embrace  the  opinion  of 
a  double  existence ;  since  in  that  case  we  should 
clearly  perceive  the  error  of  our  first  supposition  of  a 
continued  existence,  and  would  never  regard  it  any 
further.  It  is  therefore  from  the  intermediate  situa- 
tion of  the  mind  that  this  opinion  arises,  and  from 
such  an  adherence  to  these  two  contrary  principles,  as 
makes  us  seek  some  pretext  to  justify  our  receiving 
both ;  which  happily  at  last  is  found  in  the  system  of  a 
double  existence. 

Another  advantage  of  this  philosophical  system  is  its 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  271 

similarity  to  the  vulgar  one,  by  which  means  we  can 
humor  our  reason  for  a  moment,  when  it  becomes 
troublesome  and  solicitous ;  and  yet  upon  its  least 
negligence  or  inattention,  can  easily  return  to  our 
vulgar  and  natural  notions.  Accordingly  we  find,  that 
philosophers  neglect  not  this  advantage,  but,  immedi- 
ately upon  leaving  their  closets,  mingle  with  the  rest  of 
mankind  in  those  exploded  opinions,  that  our  percep- 
tions are  our  only  objects,  and  continue  identically  and 
uninterruptedly  the  same  in  all  their  interrupted  appear- 
ances. 

There  are  other  particulars  of  this  system,  wherein 
we  may  remark  its  dependence  on  the  fancy,  in  a  very 
conspicuous  manner.  Of  these,  I  shall  observe  the  two 
following.  First,  we  suppose  external  objects  to  resem- 
ble internal  perceptions.  I  have  already  shown,  that 
the  relation  of  cause  and  effect  can  never  afford  us  any 
just  conclusion  from  the  existence  or  qualities  of  our 
perceptions  to  the  existence  of  external  continued 
objects :  and  I  shall  further  add,  that  even  though  they 
could  afford  such  a  conclusion,  we  should  never  have 
any  reason  to  infer  that  our  objects  resemble  our  per- 
ceptions. That  opinion,  therefore,  is  derived  from  noth- 
ing but  the  quality  of  the  fancy  above  explained,  that  it 
borrows  all  its  ideas  from  some  precedent  perception.  We 
never  can  conceive  any  thing  but  perceptions,  and  there- 
fore must  make  every  thing  resemble  them. 

Secondly,  as  we  suppose  our  objects  in  general  to 
resemble  our  perceptions,  so  we  take  it  for  granted,  that 
every  particular  object  resembles  that  perception  which 
it  causes.  The  relation  of  cause  and  effect  determines 
us  to  join  the  other  of  resemblance ;  and  the  ideas  of 
these  existences  being  already  united  together  in  the 
fancy  by  the  former  relation,  we  naturally  add  the  latter 


272  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

to  complete  the  union.  We  have  a  strong  propensity 
to  complete  every  union  by  joining  new  relations  to 
those  which  we  have  before  observed  betwixt  any 
ideas,  as  we  shall  have  occasion  to  observe  presently* 

Having  thus  given  an  account  of  all  the  systems,  both 
popular  and  philosophical,  with  regard  to  external  exist- 
ences, I  cannot  forbear  giving  vent  to  a  certain  senti- 
ment which  arises  upon  reviewing  those  systems.  I 
begun  this  subject  with  premising,  that  we  ought  to 
have  an  implicit  faith  in  our  senses,  and  that  this  would 
be  the  conclusion  I  should  draw  from  the  whole  of  my 
reasoning.  But  to  be  ingenuous,  I  feel  myself  at  present 
of  a  quite  contrary  sentiment,  and  am  more  inclined  to 
repose  no  faith  at  all  in  my  senses,  or  rather  imagina- 
tion, than  to  place  in  it  such  an  implicit  confidence.  I 
cannot  conceive  how  such  trivial  qualities  of  the  fancy, 
conducted  by  such  false  suppositions,  can  ever  lead  to 
any  solid  and  rational  system.  They  are  the  coherence 
and  constancy  of  our  perceptions,  which  produce  the 
opinion  of  their  continued  existence ;  though  these 
qualities  of  perceptions  have  no  perceivable  connec- 
tion with  such  an  existence.  The  constancy  of  our 
perceptions  has  the  most  considerable  effect,  and  yet  is 
attended  with  the  greatest  difficulties.  It  is  a  gross  illu- 
sion to  suppose,  that  our  resembling  perceptions  are 
numerically  the  same ;  and  it  is  this  illusion  which  leads 
us  into  the  opinion,  that  these  perceptions  are  uninter- 
rupted, and  are  still  existent,  even  when  they  are  not 
present  to  the  senses.  This  is  the  case  with  our  popular 
system.  And  as  to  our  philosophical  one,  it  is  liable  to 
the  same  difficulties;  and  is,  over  and  above,  loaded 
with  this  absurdity,  that  it  at  once  denies  and  establishes 

*  Sect.  5. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  273 

the  vulgar  supposition.  Philosophers  deny  our  resem- 
bling perceptions  to  be  identically  the  same,  and  uninter- 
rupted ;  and  yet  have  so  great  a  propensity  to  believe 
them  such,  that  they  arbitrarily  invent  a  new  set  of  per- 
ceptions, to  which  they  attribute  these  qualities.  I  say, 
a  new  set  of  perceptions :  for  we  may  well  suppose  in 
general,  but  it  is  impossible  for  us  distinctly  to  conceive, 
objects  to  be  in  their  nature  any  thing  but  exactly  the 
same  with  perceptions.  What  then  can  we  look  for 
from  this  confusion  of  groundless  and  extraordinary 
opinions  but  error  and  falsehood?  And  how  can  we 
justify  to  ourselves  any  belief  we  repose  in  them  ? 

This  sceptical  doubt,  both  with  respect  to  reason  and 
the  senses,  is  a  malady  which  can  never  be  radically 
cured,  but  must  return  upon  us  every  moment,  however 
we  may  chase  it  away,  and  sometimes  may  seem  entirely 
free  from  it.  It  is  impossible,  upon  any  system,  to 
defend  either  our  understanding  or  senses ;  and  we  but 
expose  them  further  when  we  endeavor  to  justify  them 
in  that  manner.  As  the  sceptical  doubt  arises  naturally 
from  a  profound  and  intense  reflection  on  those  subjects, 
it  always  increases  the  further  we  carry  our  reflections, 
whether  in  opposition  or  conformity  to  it.  Carelessness 
and  inattention  alone  can  afford  us  any  remedy.  For 
this  reason  I  rely  entirely  upon  them ;  and  take  it  for 
granted,  whatever  may  be  the  reader's  opinion  at  this 
present  moment,  that  an  hour  hence  he  will  be  per- 
suaded there  is  both  an  external  and  internal  world; 
and,  going  upon  that  supposition,  I  intend  to  examine 
some  general  systems,  both  ancient  and  modern,  which 
have  been  proposed  of  both,  before  I  proceed  to  a  more 
particular  inquiry  concerning  our  impressions.  This 
will  not,  perhaps,  in  the  end,  be  found  foreign  to  our 
present  purpose. 

23* 


274  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

SECTION  III. 

OF   THE   ANCIENT   PHILOSOPHY. 

Several  moralists  have  recommended  it  as  an  excel- 
lent method  of  becoming  acquainted  with  our  own 
hearts,  and  knowing  our  progress  in  virtue,  to  recollect 
our  dreams  in  a  morning,  and  examine  them  with  the 
same  rigor  that  we  would  our  most  serious  and  most 
deliberate  actions.  Our  character  is  the  same  through- 
out, say  they,  and  appears  best  where  artifice,  fear,  and 
policy,  have  no  place,  and  men  can  neither  be  hypocrites 
with  themselves  nor  others.  The  generosity  or  baseness 
of  our  temper,  our  meekness  or  cruelty,  our  courage  or 
pusillanimity,  influence  the  fictions  of  the  imagination 
with  the  most  unbounded  liberty,  and  discover  them- 
selves in  the  most  glaring  colors.  In  like  manner,  I  am 
persuaded,  there  might  be  several  useful  discoveries 
made  from  a  criticism  of  the  fictions  of  the  ancient  phi- 
losophy concerning  substances,  and  substantial  forms,  and 
accidents,  and  occult  qualities,  which,  however  unreasonable 
and  capricious,  have  a  very  intimate  connection  with 
the  principles  of  human  nature. 

It  is  confessed  by  the  most  judicious  philosophers,  that 
our  ideas  of  bodies  are  nothing  but  collections  formed 
by  the  mind  of  the  ideas  of  the  several  distinct  sensible 
qualities,  of  which  objects  are  composed,  and  which  we 
find  to  have  a  constant  union  with  each  other.  But 
however  these  qualities  may  in  themselves  be  entirely 
distinct,  it  is  certain  we  commonly  regard  the  compound, 
which  they  form,  as  one  thing,  and  as  continuing  the 
same  under  very  considerable  alterations.  The  acknowl- 
edged composition  is  evidently  contrary  to  this  supposed 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  275 

simplicity,  and  the  variation  to  the  idemHty.  It  may  there- 
fore be  worth  while  to  consider  the  causes,  which  make 
us  almost  universally  fall  into  such  evident  contradic- 
tions, as  well  as  the  means  by  which  we  endeavor  to  con- 
ceal them. 

It  is  evident,  that  as  the  ideas  of  the  several  distinct 
successive  qualities  of  objects  are  united  together  by  a 
very  close  relation,  the  mind,  in  looking  along  the  suc- 
cession, must  be  carried  from  one  part  of  it  to  another 
by  an  easy  transition,  and  will  no  more  perceive  the 
change,  than  if  it  contemplated  the  same  unchangeable 
object.  This  easy  transition  is  the  effect,  or  rather 
essence  of  relation  ;  and  as  the  imagination  readily  takes 
one  idea  for  another,  where  their  influence  on  the  mind 
is  similar ;  hence  it  proceeds,  that  any  such  succession 
of  related  qualities  is  readily  considered  as  one  continued 
object,  existing  without  any  variation.  The  smooth  and 
uninterrupted  progress  of  the  thought,  being  alike  in 
both  cases,  readily  deceives  the  mind,  and  makes  us 
ascribe  an  identity  to  the  changeable  succession  of  con- 
nected qualities. 

But  when  we  alter  our  method  of  considering  the 
succession,  and,  instead  of  tracing  it  gradually  through 
the  successive  points  of  time,  survey  at  once  any  two 
distinct  periods  of  its  duration,  and  compare  the  differ- 
ent conditions  of  the  successive  qualities ;  in  that  case 
the  variations,  which  were  insensible  when  they  arose 
gradually,  do  now  appear  of  consequence,  and  seem 
entirely  to  destroy  the  identity.  By  this  means  there 
arises  a  kind  of  contrariety  in  our  method  of  thinking, 
from  the  different  points  of  view,  in  which  we  survey 
the  object,  and  from  the  nearness  or  remoteness  of  those 
instants  of  time,  which  we  compare  together.  When 
we  gradually  follow  an  object  in  its  successive  changes, 


276  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

the  smooth  progress  of  the  thought  makes  us  ascribe 
an  identity  to  the  succession ;  because  it  is  by  a  similar 
act  of  the  mind  we  consider  an  unchangeable  object. 
When  we  compare  its  situation  after  a  considerable 
change  the  progress  of  the  thought  is  broke ;  and  conse- 
quently we  are  presented  with  the  idea  of  diversity ;  in 
order  to  reconcile  which  contradictions  the  imagination 
is  apt  to  feign  something  unknown  and  invisible,  which 
it  supposes  to  continue  the  same  under  all  these  varia- 
tions; and  this  unintelligible  something  it  calls  a  sub- 
stance, or  original  and  first  matter. 

We  entertain  a  like  notion  with  regard  to  the  simplicity 
of  substances,  and  from  like  causes.  Suppose  an  object 
perfectly  simple  and  indivisible  to  be  presented,  along 
with  another  object,  whose  coexistent  parts  are  connected 
together  by  a  strong  relation,  it  is  evident  the  actions  of 
the  mind,  in  considering  these  two  objects,  are  not  very 
different.  The  imagination  conceives  the  simple  object 
at  once,  with  facility,  by  a  single  effort  of  thought,  with- 
out change  or  variation.  The  connection  of  parts  in  the 
compound  object  has  almost  the  same  effect,  and  so 
unites  the  object  within  itself,  that  the  fancy  feels  not 
the  transition  in  passing  from  one  part  to  another. 
Hence  the  color,  taste,  figure,  solidity,  and  other  quali- 
ties, combined  in  a  peach  or  melon,  are  conceived  to 
form  one  thing ;  and  that  on  account  of  their  close  rela- 
tion, which  makes  them  affect  the  thought  in  the  same 
manner,  as  if  perfectly  uncompounded.  But  the  mind 
rests  not  here.  Whenever  it  views  the  object  in  another 
light,  it  finds  that  all  these  qualities  are  different,  and 
distinguishable,  and  separable  from  each  other ;  which 
view  of  things  being  destructive  of  its  primary  and  more 
natural  notions,  obliges  the  imagination  to  feign  an 
unknown  something,  or  original  substance  and  matter,  as 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  277 

a  principle  of  union  or  cohesion  among  these  qualities, 
and  as  what  may  give  the  compound  object  a  title  to  be 
called  one  thing,  notwithstanding  its  diversity  and  com- 
position. 

The  Peripatetic  philosophy  asserts  the  original  matter 
to  be  perfectly  homogeneous  in  all  bodies,  and  considers 
fire,  water,  earth,  and  air,  as  of  the  very  same  substance, 
on  account  of  their  gradual  revolutions  and  changes 
into  each  other.  At  the  same  time  it  assigns  to  each  of 
these  species  of  objects  a  distinct  substantial  form,  which 
it  supposes  to  be  the  source  of  all  those  different  quali- 
ties they  possess,  and  to  be  a  new  foundation  of  sim- 
plicity and  identity  to  each  particular  species.  All 
depends  on  our  manner  of  viewing  the  objects.  "When 
we  look  along  the  insensible  changes  of  bodies,  we  sup- 
pose all  of  them  to  be  of  the  same  substance  or  essence. 
When  we  consider  their  sensible  differences,  we  attribute 
to  each  of  them  a  substantial  and  essential  difference. 
And  in  order  to  indulge  ourselves  in  both  these  ways  of 
considering  our  objects,  we  suppose  all  bodies  to  have  at 
once  a  substance  and  a  substantial  form. 

The  notion  of  accidents  is  an  unavoidable  consequence 
of  this  method  of  thinking  with  regard  to  substances 
and  substantial  forms ;  nor  can  we  forbear  looking  upon 
colors,  sounds,  tastes,  figures,  and  other  properties  of 
bodies,  as  existences,  which  cannot  subsist  apart,  but 
require  a  subject  of  inhesion  to  sustain  and  support 
them.  For  having  never  discovered  any  of  these  sensi- 
ble qualities,  where,  for  the  reasons  above  mentioned, 
we  did  not  likewise  fancy  a  substance  to  exist ;  the  same 
habit,  which  makes  us  infer  a  connection  betwixt  cause 
and  effect,  makes  us  here  infer  a  dependence  of  every 
quality  on  the  unknown  substance.  The  custom  of 
imagining  a  dependence  has  the  same  effect  as  the  cus- 


278  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

torn  of  observing  it  would  have.  This  conceit,  however, 
is  no  more  reasonable  than  any  of  the  foregoing.  Every 
quality  being  a  distinct  thing  from  another,  may  be  con- 
ceived to  exist  apart,  and  may  exist  apart  not  only  from 
every  other  quality,  but  from  that  unintelligible  chi- 
mera of  a  substance.  < 

But  these  philosophers  carry  their  fictions  still  further 
in  their  sentiments  concerning  occult  qualities,  and  both 
suppose  a  substance  supporting,  which  they  do  not 
understand,  and  an  accident  supported,  of  which  they 
have  as  imperfect  an  idea.  The  whole  system,  there- 
fore, is  entirely  incomprehensible,  and  yet  is  derived 
from  principles  as  natural  as  any  of  these  above  ex- 
plained. 

In  considering  this  subject,  we  may  observe  a  grada- 
tion of  three  opinions  that  rise  above  each  other,  accord- 
ing as  the  persons  who  form  them  acquire  new  degrees 
of  reason  and  knowledge.  These  opinions  are  that  of 
the  vulgar,  that  of  a  false  philosophy,  and  that  of  the 
true ;  where  we  shall  find  upon  inquiry,  that  the  true 
philosophy  approaches  nearer  to  the  sentiments  of  the 
vulgar  than  to  those  of  a  mistaken  knowledge.  It  is 
natural  for  men,  in  their  common  and  careless  way  of 
thinking,  to  imagine  they  perceive  a  connection  betwixt 
such  objects  as  they  have  constantly  found  united 
together ;  and  because  custom  has  rendered  it  difficult 
to  separate  the  ideas,  they  are  apt  to  fancy  such  a  sepa- 
ration to  be  in  itself  impossible  and  absurd.  But  philo- 
sophers, who  abstract  from  the  effects  of  custom,  and 
compare  the  ideas  of  objects,  immediately  perceive  the 
falsehood  of  these  vulgar  sentiments,  and  discover  that 
there  is  no  known  connection  among  objects.  Every 
different  object  appears  to  them  entirely  distinct  and 
separate ;  and  they  perceive  that  it  is  not  from  a  view 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  279 

of  the  nature  and  qualities  of  objects  we  infer  one  from 
another,  but  only  when  in  several  instances  we  observe 
them  to  have  been  constantly  conjoined.  But  these 
philosophers,  instead  of  drawing  a  just  inference  from 
this  observation,  and  concluding,  that  we  have  no  idea 
of  power  or  agency,  separate  from  the  mind  and  belong- 
ing to  causes ;  I  say,  instead  of  drawing  this  conclusion, 
they  frequently  search  for  the  qualities  in  which  this 
agency  consists,  and  are  displeased  with  every  system 
which  their  reason  suggests  to  them,  in  order  to  explain 
it.  They  have  sufficient  force  of  genius  to  free  them 
from  the  vulgar  error,  that  there  is  a  natural  and  per- 
ceivable connection  betwixt  the  several  sensible  qualities 
and  actions  of  matter,  but  not  sufficient  to  keep  them 
from  ever  seeking  for  this  connection  in  matter  or  causes. 
Had  they  fallen  upon  the  just  conclusion,  they  would 
have  returned  back  to  the  situation  of  the  vulgar,  and 
would  have  regarded  all  these  disquisitions  with  indo- 
lence and  indifference.  At  present  they  seem  to  be  in  a 
very  lamentable  condition,  and  such  as  the  poets  have 
given  us  but  a  faint  notion  of  in  their  descriptions  of  the 
punishment  of  Sisyphus  and  Tantalus.  For  what  can 
be  imagined  more  tormenting  than  to  seek  with  eager- 
ness what  for  ever  flies  us,  and  seek  for  it  in  a  place 
where  it  is  impossible  it  can  ever  exist  ? 

But  as  Nature  seems  to  have  observed  a  kind  of  jus- 
tice and  comprehension  in  every  thing,  she  has  not  neg- 
lected philosophers  more  than  the  rest  of  the  creation, 
but  has  reserved  them  a  consolation  amid  all  their  dis- 
appointments and  afflictions.  This  consolation  princi- 
pally consists  in  their  invention  of  the  words  faculty  and 
occult  quality.  For  it  being  usual,  after  the  frequent  use 
of  terms,  which  are  really  significant  and  intelligible,  to 
omit  the  idea  which  we  would  express  by  them,  and 


280  OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

preserve  only  the  custom  by  which  we  recall  the  idea  at 
pleasure;  so  it  naturally  happens,  that  after  the  fre- 
quent use  of  terms  which  are  wholly  insignificant  and 
unintelligible,  we  fancy  them  to  be  on  the  same  footing 
with  the  precedent,  and  to  have  a  secret  meaning 
which  we  might  discover  by  reflection.  The  resem- 
blance of  their  appearance  deceives  the  mind,  as  is 
usual,  and  makes  us  imagine  a  thorough  resemblance 
and  conformity.  By  this  means  these  philosophers  set 
themselves  at  ease,  and  arrive  at  last,  by  an  illusion, 
at  the  same  indifference  which  the  people  attain  by 
their  stupidity,  and  true  philosophers  by  their  moderate 
scepticism.  They  need  only  say,  that  any  phenomenon 
which  puzzles  them  arises  from  a  faculty  or  an  occult 
quality,  and  there  is  an  end  of  all  dispute  and  inquiry 
upon  the  matter. 

But  among  all  the  instances  wherein  the  Peripatetics 
have  shown  they  were  guided  by  every  trivial  propen- 
sity of  the  imagination,  no  one  is  more  remarkable  than 
their  sympathies,  antipathies,  and  horrors  of  a  vacuum. 
There  is  a  very  remarkable  inclination  in  human  nature 
to  bestow  on  external  objects  the  same  emotions  which 
it  observes  in  itself,  and  to  find  everywhere  those  ideas 
which  are  most  present  to  it.  This  inclination,  it  is  true, 
is  suppressed  by  a  little  reflection,  and  only  takes  place 
in  children,  poets,  and  the  ancient  philosophers.  It 
appears  in  children,  by  their  desire  of  beating  the  stones 
which  hurt  them :  in  poets  by  their  readiness  to  per- 
sonify every  thing ;  and  in  the  ancient  philosophers,  by 
these  fictions  of  sympathy  and  antipathy.  We  must 
pardon  children,  because  of  their  age;  poets,  because 
they  profess  to  follow  implicitly  the  suggestions  of  their 
fancy;  but  what  excuse  shall  we  find  to  justify  our 
philosophers  in  so  signal  a  weakness  ? 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  281 

SECTION   IV. 

OF   THE   MODERN   PHILOSOPHY. 

But  here  it  may  be  objected,  that  the  imagination, 
according  to  my  own  confession,  being  the  ultimate 
judge  of  all  systems  of  philosophy,  I  am  unjust  in  blam- 
ing the  ancient  philosophers  for  making  use  of  that 
faculty,  and  allowing  themselves  to  be  entirely  guided 
by  it  in  their  reasonings.  In  order  to  justify  myself,  I 
must  distinguish  in  the  imagination  betwixt  the  princi- 
ples which  are  permanent,  irresistible,  and  universal ; 
such  as  the  customary  transition  from  causes  to  effects, 
and  from  effects  to  causes :  and  the  principles,  which 
are  changeable,  weak,  and  irregular;  such  as  those  I 
have  just  now  taken  notice  of.  The  former  are  the 
foundation  of  all  our  thoughts  and  actions,  so  that  upon 
their  removal,  human  nature  must  immediately  perish 
and  go  to  ruin.  The  latter  are  neither  unavoidable  to 
mankind,  nor  necessary,  or  so  much  as  useful  in  the 
conduct  of  life ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  are  observed  only 
to  take  place  in  weak  minds,  and  being  opposite  to  the 
other  principles  of  custom  and  reasoning,  may  easily  be 
subverted  by  a  due  contrast  and  opposition.  For  this 
reason,  the  former  are  received  by  philosophy,  and  the 
latter  rejected.  One  who  concludes  somebody  to  be 
near  him,  when  he  hears  an  articulate  voice  in  the  dark, 
reasons  justly  and  naturally;  though  that  conclusion 
be  derived  from  nothing  but  custom,  which  infixes  and 
enlivens  the  idea  of  a  human  creature,  on  account  of 
his  usual  conjunction  with  the  present  impression.  But 
one,  who  is  tormented  he  knows  not  why,  with  the 
apprehension  of  spectres  in  the  dark,  may  perhaps  be 

vol.  i.  24 


282  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

said  to  reason,  and  to  reason  naturally  too :  but  then  it 
must  be  in  the  same  sense  that  a  malady  is  said  to  be 
natural;  as  arising  from  natural  causes,  though  it  be 
contrary  to  health,  the  most  agreeable  and  most  natural 
situation  of  man. 

The  opinions  of  the  ancient  philosophers,  their  fic- 
tions of  substance  and  accident,  and  their  reasonings 
concerning  substantial  forms  and  occult  qualities,  are 
like  the  spectres  in  the  dark,  and  are  derived  from 
principles,  which,  however  common,  are  neither  univer- 
sal nor  unavoidable  in  human  nature.  The  modern  phi- 
losophy pretends  to  be  entirely  free  from  this  defect,  and 
to  arise  only  from  the  solid,  permanent,  and  consistent 
principles  of  the  imagination.  Upon  what  grounds  this 
pretension  is  founded,  must  now  be  the  subject  of  our 
inquiry. 

The  fundamental  principle  of  that  philosophy  is  the 
opinion  concerning  colors,  sounds,  tastes,  smells,  heat, 
and  cold;  which  it  asserts  to  be  nothing  but  impres- 
sions in  the  mind,  derived  from  the  operation  of  exter- 
nal objects,  and  without  any  resemblance  to  the  qualities 
of  the  objects.  Upon  examination,  I  find  only  one  of 
the  reasons  commonly  produced  for  this  opinion  to  be 
satisfactory;  viz.  that  derived  from  the  variations  of 
those  impressions,  even  while  the  external  object,  to  all 
appearance,  continues  the  same.  These  variations  depend 
upon  several  circumstances.  Upon  the  different  situa- 
tions of  our  health :  a  man  in  a  malady  feels  a  disagree- 
able taste  in  meats,  which  before  pleased  him  the  most. 
Upon  the  different  complexions  and  constitutions  of 
men :  that  seems  bitter  to  one,  which  is  sweet  to  another. 
Upon  the  difference  of  their  external  situation  and  posi- 
tion :  colors  reflected  from  the  clouds  change  according 
to  the  distance  of  the  clouds,  and  according  to  the  angle 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.       -  283 

they  make  with  the  eye  and  luminous  body.  Fire  also 
communicates  the  sensation  of  pleasure  at  one  distance, 
and  that  of  pain  at  another.  Instances  of  this  kind  are 
very  numerous  and  frequent. 

The  conclusion  drawn  from  them,  is  likewise  as  satis- 
factory as  can  possibly  be  imagined.  It  is  certain,  that 
when  different  impressions  of  the  same  sense  arise  from 
any  object,  every  one  of  these  impressions  has  not  a 
resembling  quality  existent  in  the  object.  For  as  the 
same  object  cannot,  at  the  same  time,  be  endowed  with 
different  qualities  of  the  same  sense,  and  as  the  same 
quality  cannoj  resemble  impressions  entirely  different ; 
it  evidently  follows,  that  many  of  our  impressions  have 
no  external  model  or  archetype.  Now,  from  like  effects 
we  presume  like  causes.  Many  of  the  impressions  of 
color,  sound,  etc.,  are  confessed  to  be  nothing  but  in 
ternal  existences,  and  to  arise  from  causes,  which  noways 
resemble  them.  These  impressions  are  in  appearance 
nothing  different  from  the  other  impressions  of  color, 
sound,  etc.  We  conclude,  therefore,  that  they  are,  all  of 
them,  derived  from  a  like  origin. 

This  principle  being  once  admitted,  all  the  other  doc- 
trines of  that  philosophy  seem  to  follow  by  an  easy  con- 
sequence. For,  upon  the  removal  of  sounds,  colors, 
heat,  cold,  and  other  sensible  qualities,  from  the  rank  of 
continued  independent  existences,  we  are  reduced  merely 
to  what  are  called  primary  qualities,  as  the  only  real 
ones,  of  which  we  have  any  adequate  notion.  These 
primary  qualities  are  extension  and  solidity,  with  their 
different  mixtures  and  modifications;  figure,  motion, 
gravity,  and  cohesion.  The  generation,  increase,  decay, 
and  corruption  of  animals  and  vegetables,  are  nothing 
but  changes  of  figure  and  motion  ;  as  also  the  operations 
of  all  bodies  on  each  other ;  of  fire,  of  light,  water,  air, 


284  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

earth,  and  of  all  the  elements  and  powers  of  nature. 
One  figure  and  motion  produces  another  figure  and 
motion ;  nor  does  there  remain  in  the  material  universe 
any  other  principle,  either  active  or  passive,  of  which 
we  can  form  the  most  distant  idea. 

I  believe  many  objections  might  be  made  to  this*  sys- 
tem ;  but  at  present  I  shall  confine  myself  to  one,  which 
is,  in  my  opinion,  very  decisive.  I  assert,  that  instead 
of  explaining  the  operations  of  external  objects  by  its 
means,  we  utterly  annihilate  all  these  objects,  and  reduce 
ourselves  to  the  opinions  of  the  most  extravagant  scep- 
ticism concerning  them.  If  colors,  sounds,  tastes,  and 
smells  be  merely  perceptions,  nothing,  we  can  conceive, 
is  possessed  of  a  real,  continued,  and  independent  exist- 
ence ;  not  even  motion,  extension,  and  solidity,  which 
are  the  primary  qualities  chiefly  insisted  on. 

To  begin  with  the  examination  of  motion ;  it  is  evi- 
dent this  is  a  quality  altogether  inconceivable  alone,  and 
without  a  reference  to  some  other  object.  The  idea  of 
motion  necessarily  supposes  that  of  a  body  moving. 
Now,  what  is  our  idea  of  the  moving  body,  without 
which  motion  is  incomprehensible  ?  It  must  resolve 
itself  into  the  idea  of  extension  or  of  solidity ;  and  con- 
sequently the  reality  of  motion  depends  upon  that  of 
these  other  qualities. 

This  opinion,  which  is  universally  acknowledged  con- 
cerning motion,  I  have  proved  to  be  true  with  regard  to 
extension ;  and  have  shown  that  it  is  impossible  to  con- 
ceive extension  but  as  composed  of  parts,  endowed  with 
color  or  solidity.  The  idea  of  extension  is  a  compound 
idea ;  but  as  it  is  not  compounded  of  an  infinite  number 
of  parts  or  inferior  ideas,  it  must  at  last  resolve  itself 
into  such  as  are  perfectly  simple  and  indivisible.  These 
simple  and  indivisible  parts  not  being  ideas  of  extension, 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  285 

must  be  nonentities,  unless  conceived  as  colored  or  solid. 
Color  is  excluded  from  any  real  existence.  The  reality 
therefore  of  our  idea  of  extension  depends  upon  the 
reality  of  that  of  solidity ;  nor  can  the  former  be  just 
while  the  latter  is  chimerical.  Let  us  then  lend  our 
attention  to  the  examination  of  the  idea  of  solidity. 

The  idea  of  solidity  is  that  of  two  objects,  which, 
being  impelled  by  the  utmost  force,  cannot  penetrate 
each  other,  but  still  maintain  a  separate  and  distinct 
existence.  Solidity  therefore  is  perfectly  incomprehen- 
sible alone,  and  without  the  conception  of  some  bodies 
which  are  solid,  and  maintain  this  separate  and  distinct 
existence.  Now,  what  idea  have  we  of  these  bodies? 
The  ideas  of  colors,  sounds,  and  other  secondary  quali- 
ties, are  excluded.  The  idea  of  motion  depends  on  that 
of  extension,  and  the  idea  of  extension  on  that  of 
solidity.  It  is  impossible,  therefore,  that  the  idea  of 
solidity  can  depend  on  either  of  them.  For  that  would 
be  to  run  in  a  circle,  and  make  one  idea  depend  on 
another,  while,  at  the  same  time,  the  latter  depends  on 
the  former.  Our  modern  philosophy,  therefore,  leaves 
us  no  just  nor  satisfactory  idea  of  solidity,  nor  conse- 
quently of  matter. 

This  argument  will  appear  entirely  conclusive  to 
every  one  that  comprehends  it ;  but  because  it  may 
seem  abstruse  and  intricate  to  the  generality  of  readers, 
I  hope  to  be  excused  if  I  endeavor  to  render  it  more 
obvious  by  some  variation  of  the  expression.  In  order 
to  form  an  idea  of  solidity,  we  must  conceive  two  bodies 
pressing  on  each  other  without  any  penetration ;  and  it 
is  impossible  to  arrive  at  this  idea,  when  we  confine  our- 
selves to  one  object,  much  more  without  conceiving  any. 
Two  nonentities  cannot  exclude  each  other  from  their 
places,  because  they  never  possess  any  place,  nor  can  be 

24* 


286  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

endowed  with  any  quality.  Now  I  ask,  what  idea  do 
we  form  of  these  bodies  or  objects  to  which  we  suppose 
solidity  to  belong?  To  say  that  we  conceive  them 
merely  as  solid,  is  to  run  on  in  infinitum.  To  affirm  that 
we  paint  them  out  to  ourselves  as  extended,  either 
resolves  all  into  a  false  idea,  or  returns  in  a  circle. 
Extension  must  necessarily  be  considered  either  as 
colored,  which  is  a  false  idea,  or  as  solid,  which  brings  us 
back  to  the  first  question.  We  may  make  the  same 
observation  concerning  mobility  and  figure ;  and,  upon 
the  whole,  must  conclude,  that  after  the  exclusion  of 
colors,  sounds,  heat,  and  cold,  from  the  rank  of  external 
existences,  there  remains  nothing  which  can  afford  us  a 
just  and  consistent  idea  of  body. 

Add  to  this,  that,  properly  speaking,  solidity  or  im- 
penetrability is  nothing  but  an  impossibility  of  anni- 
hilation, as  has  been  already  observed :  *  .for  which 
reason  it  is  the  more  necessary  for  us  to  form  some  dis- 
tinct idea  of  that  object  whose  annihilation  we  suppose 
impossible.  An  impossibility  of  being  annihilated  can- 
not exist,  and  can  never  be  conceived  to  exist,  by  itself, 
but  necessarily  requires  some  object  or  real  existence 
to  which  it  may  belong.  Now,  the  difficulty  still 
remains  how  to  form  an  idea  of  this  object  or  exist- 
ence, without  having  recourse  to  the  secondary  and  sen- 
sible qualities. 

Nor  must  we  omit,  on  this  occasion,  our  accustomed 
method  of  examining  ideas  by  considering  those  impres- 
sions from  which  they  are  derived.  The  impressions 
which  enter  by  the  sight  and  hearing,  the  smell  and 
taste,  are  affirmed  by  modern  philosophy  to  be  without 
any  resembling  objects;  and  consequently  the  idea  of 

*  Part  II.  Sect.  4. 


OF   THE  UNDERSTANDING.  287 

solidity,  which  is  supposed  to  be  real,  can  never  be 
derived  from  any  of  these  senses.  There  remains, 
therefore,  the  feeling  as  the  only  sense  that  can  convey 
the  impression  which  is  original  to  the  idea  of  solidity ; 
and,  indeed,  we  naturally  imagine  that  we  feel  the 
solidity  of  bodies,  and  need  but  touch  any  object  in 
order  to  perceive  this  quality.  But  this  method  of 
thinking  is  more  popular  than  philosophical,  as  will 
appear  from  the  following  reflections. 

First,  it  is  easy  to  observe,  that  though  bodies  are  felt, 
by  means  of  their  solidity,  yet  the  feeling  is  a  quite  dif- 
ferent thing  from  the  solidity,  and  that  they  have  not 
the  least  resemblance  to  each  other.  A  man  who  has 
the  palsy  in  one  hand  has  as  perfect  an  idea  of  impene- 
trability, when  he  observes  that  hand  to  be  supported 
by  the  table,  as  when  he  feels  the  same  table  with  the 
other  han<J.  An  object  that  presses  upon  any  of  our 
members  meets  with  resistance  ;  and  that  resistance,  by 
the  motion  it  gives  to  the  nerves  and  animal  spirits,  con- 
veys a  certain  sensation  to  the  mind ;  but  it  does  not 
follow  that  the  sensation,  motion,  and  resistance,  are  any 
ways  resembling. 

Secondly,  the  impressions  of  touch  are  simple  impres- 
sions, except  when  considered  with  regard  to  their 
extension ;  which  makes  nothing  to  the  present  pur- 
pose :  and  from  this  simplicity  I  infer,  that  they  neither 
represent  solidity,  nor  any  real  object.  For  let  us  put 
two  cases,  viz.  that  of  a  man  who  presses  a  stone  or  any 
solid  body  with  his  hand,  and  that  of  two  stones  which 
press  each  other ;  it  will  readily  be  allowed  that  these 
two  cases  are  not  in  every  respect  alike,  but  that  in 
the  former  there  is  conjoined  with  the  solidity  a  feel- 
ing or  sensation  of  which  there  is  no  appearance  in 
the   latter.     In   order,  therefore,   to   make   these   two 


288  OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

cases  alike,  it  is  necessary  to  remove  some  part  of  the 
impression  which  the  man  feels  by  his  hand,  or  organ 
of  sensation;  and  that  being  impossible  in  a  simple 
impression,  obliges  us  to  remove  the  whole,  and  proves 
that  this  whole  impression  has  no  archetype  or  model 
in  external  objects;  to  which  we  may  add,  that 
solidity  necessarily  supposes  two  bodies,  along  with 
contiguity  and  impulse;  which  being  a  compound 
object,  can  never  be  represented  by  a  simple  impres- 
sion. Not  to  mention,  that,  though  solidity  continues 
always  invariably  the  same,  the  impressions  of  touch 
change  every  moment  upon  us,  which  is  a  clear  proof 
that  the  latter  are  not  representations  of  the  former. 

Thus  there  is  a  direct  and  total  opposition  betwixt 
our  reason  and  our  senses;  or,  more  properly  speak- 
ing, betwixt  those  conclusions  we  form  from  cause  and 
effect,  and  those  that  persuade  us  of  the  continued  and 
independent  existence  of  body.  When  we  reason  from 
cause  and  effect,  we  conclude,  that  neither  color,  sound, 
taste,  nor  smell,  have  a  continued  and  independent 
existence.  When  we  exclude  these  sensible  qualities, 
there  remains  nothing  in  the  universe  which  has  such 
an  existence. 


SECTION  V. 

OF  THE  IMMATERIALITY  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Having  found  such  contradictions  and  difficulties  in 
every  system  concerning  external  objects,  and  in  the 
idea  of  matter,  which  we.  fancy  so  clear  and  determi- 
nate, we  shall  naturally  expect  still  greater  difficulties 
and  contradictions  in  every  hypothesis  concerning  our 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  289 

internal  perceptions,  and  the  nature  of  the  mind,  which 
we  are  apt  to  imagine  so  much  more  obscure  and 
uncertain.  But  in  this  we  should  deceive  ourselves. 
The  intellectual  world,  though  involved  in  infinite 
obscurities,  is  not  perplexed  with  any  such  contradic- 
tions as  those  we  have  discovered  in  the  natural.  What 
is  known  concerning  it,  agrees  with  itself;  and  what  is 
unknown,  we  must  be  contented  to  leave  so. 

It  is  true,  would  we  hearken  to  certain  philosophers, 
they  promise  to  diminish  our  ignorance ;  but  I  am 
afraid  it  is  at  the  hazard  of  running  us  into  contra- 
dictions, from  which  the  subject  is  itself  exempted. 
These  philosophers  are  the  curious  reasoners  concern- 
ing the  material  or  immaterial  substances,  in  which  they 
suppose  our  perceptions  to  inhere.  In  order  to  put 
a  stop  to  these  endless  cavils  on  both  sides,  I  know 
no  better  method,  than  to  ask  these  philosophers  in  a 
few  words,  What  they  mean  by  substance  and  inhesion  ? 
And  after  they  have  answered  this  question,  it  will  then 
be  reasonable,  and  not  till  then,  to  enter  seriously  into 
the  dispute. 

This  question  we  have  found  impossible  to  be  answered 
with  regard  to  matter  and  body;  but  besides  that  in 
the  case  of  the  mind  it  labors  under  all  the  same  dif- 
ficulties, it  is  burdened  with  some  additional  ones, 
which  are  peculiar  to  that  subject.  As  every  idea  is 
derived  from  a  precedent  impression,  had  we  any  idea 
of  the  substance  of  our  minds,  we  must  also  have  an 
impression  of  it,  which  is  very  difficult,  if  not  impossi- 
ble, to  be  conceived.  For  how  can  an  impression  rep- 
resent a  substance,  otherwise  than  by  resembling  it? 
And  how  can  an  impression  resemble  a  substance, 
since,  according  to  this  philosophy,  it  is  not  a  substance, 


290  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

and  has  none  of  the  peculiar  qualities  or  characteristics 
of  a  substance  ? 

But  leaving  the  question  of  ivhat  may  or  may  not  be, 
for  that  other  what  actually  is,  I  desire  those  philoso- 
phers, who  pretend  that  we  have  an  idea  of  the  sub- 
stance of  our  minds,  to  point  out  the  impression  that 
produces  it,  and  tell  distinctly  after  what  manner  that 
impression  operates,  and  from  what  object  it  is  derived. 
Is  it  an  impression  of  sensation  or  reflection?  Is  it 
pleasant,  or  painful,  or  indifferent  ?  Does  it  attend  us 
at  all  times,  or  does  it  only  return  at  intervals  ?  If  at 
intervals,  at  what  times  principally  does  it  return,  and 
by  what  causes  is  it  produced  ? 

If,  instead  of  answering  these  questions,  any  one 
should  evade  the  difficulty,  by  saying,  that  the  defini- 
tion of  a  substance  is  something  which  may  exist  by  itself, 
and  that  this  definition  ought  to  satisfy  us :  should  this 
be  said,  I  should  observe,  that  this  definition  agrees  to 
every  thing  that  can  possibly  be  conceived ;  and  never 
will  serve  to  distinguish  substance  from  accident,  or  the 
soul  from  its  perceptions.  For  thus  I  reason.  Whatever 
is  clearly  conceived,  may  exist ;  and  whatever  is  clearly 
conceived,  after  any  manner,  may  exist  after  the  same 
manner.  This  is  one  principle  which  has  been  already 
acknowledged.  Again,  every  thing  which  is  different  is 
distinguishable,  and  every  thing  which  is  distinguishable 
is  separable  by  the  imagination.  This  is  another  princi- 
ple. My  conclusion  from  both  is,  that  since  all  our  per- 
ceptions are  different  from  each  other,  and  from  every 
thing  else  in  the  universe,  they  are  also  distinct  and 
separable,  and  may  be  considered  as  separately  existent, 
and  may  exist  separately,  and  have  no  need  of  any 
thing  else  to  support  their  existence.     They  are  there- 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  291 

fore  substances,  as  far  as  this  definition  explains  a 
substance. 

Thus,  neither  by  considering  the  first  origin  of  ideas, 
nor  by  means  of  a  definition,  are  we  able  to  arrive  at 
any  satisfactory  notion  of  substance,  which  seems  to  me 
a  sufficient  reason  for  abandoning  utterly  that  dispute 
concerning  the  materiality  and  immateriality  of  the 
soul,  and  makes  me  absolutely  condemn  even  the  ques- 
tion itself.  We  have  no  perfect  idea  of  any  thing  but 
of  a  perception.  A  substance  is  entirely  different  from 
a  perception.  We  have  therefore  no  idea  of  a  substance. 
Inhesion  in  something  is  supposed  to  be  requisite  to 
support  the  existence  of  our  perceptions.  Nothing 
appears  requisite  to  support  the  existence  of  a  percep- 
tion. We  have  therefore  no  idea  of  inhesion.  What 
possibility  then  of  answering  that  question,  Whether 
perceptions  inhere  in  a  material  or  immaterial  substance,  when 
we  do  not  so  much  as  understand  the  meaning  of  the 
question  ? 

There  is  one  argument  commonly  employed  for  the 
immateriality  of  the  soul,  which  seems  to  me  remarkable. 
Whatever  is  extended  consists  of  parts ;  and  whatever 
consists  of  parts  is  divisible,  if  not  in  reality,  at  least  in 
the  imagination.  But  it  is  impossible  any  thing  divisible 
can  be  conjoined  to  a  thought  or  perception,  which  is  a 
being  altogether  inseparable  and  indivisible.  For,  sup- 
posing such  a  conjunction,  would  the  indivisible  thought 
exist  on  the  left  or  on  the  right  hand  of  this  extended 
divisible  body  ?  On  the  surface  or  in  the  middle  ?  On 
the  back  or  foreside  of  it  ?  If  it  be  conjoined  with  the 
extension,  it  must  exist  somewhere  within  its  dimensions. 
If  it  exist  within  its  dimensions,  it  must  either  exist  in 
one  particular  part;  and  then  that  particular  part  is 
indivisible,  and  the  perception  is  conjoined  only  with  it, 


292  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

not  with  the  extension :  or  if  the  thought  exists  in  every 
part,  it  must  also  be  extended,  and  separable,  and  divisi- 
ble, as  well  as  the  body,  which  is  utterly  absurd  and  con- 
tradictory. For  can  any  one  conceive  a  passion  of  a 
yard  in  length,  a  foot  in  breadth,  and  an  inch  in  thick- 
ness ?  Thought  therefore  and  extension  are  qualities 
wholly  incompatible,  and  never  can  incorporate  together 
into  one  subject. 

This  argument  affects  not  the  question  concerning  the 
substance  of  the  soul,  but  only  that  concerning  its  local 
conjunction  with  matter;  and  therefore  it  may  not  be 
improper  to  consider  in  general  what  objects  are,  or  are 
not  susceptible  of  a  local  conjunction.  This  is  a  curious 
question,  and  may  lead  us  to  some  discoveries  of  con- 
siderable moment. 

The  first  notion  of  space  and  extension  is  derived 
solely  from  the  senses  of  sight  and  feeling ;  nor  is  there 
any  thing,  but  what  is  colored  or  tangible,  that  has  parts 
disposed  after  such  a  manner  as  to  convey  that  idea. 
When  we  diminish  or  increase  a  relish,  it  is  not  after  the 
same  manner  that  we  diminish  or  increase  any  visible 
object ;  and  when  several  sounds  strike  our  hearing  at 
once,  custom  and  reflection  alone  make  us  form  an  idea 
of  the  degrees  of  the  distance  and  contiguity  of  those 
bodies  from  which  they  are  derived.  Whatever  marks 
the  place  of  its  existence,  either  must  be  extended,  or 
must  be  a  mathematical  point,  without  parts  or  compo- 
sition. What  is  extended  must  have  a  particular  figure, 
as  square,  round,  triangular ;  none  of  which  will  agree 
to  a  desire,  or  indeed  to  any  impression  or  idea,  except 
of  these  two  senses  above  mentioned.  Neither  ought  a 
desire,  though  indivisible,  to  be  considered  as  a  mathe- 
matical point.  For  in  that  case  it  would  be  possible,  by 
the  addition  of  others,  to  make  two,  three,  four  desires ; 


OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING.  293 

and  these  disposed  and  situated  in  such  a,  manner,  as 
to  have  a  determinate  length,  breadth,  and  thickness ; 
which  is  evidently  absurd. 

It  will  not  be  surprising  after  this,  if  I  deliver  a 
maxim,  which  is  condemned  by  several  metaphysicians, 
and  is  esteemed  contrary  to  the  most  certain  principles 
of  human  reason.  This  maxim  is,  that  an  object  may  exist, 
and  yet  be  noivhere ;  and  I  assert,  that  this  is  not  only 
possible,  but  that  the  greatest  part  of  beings  do  and 
must  exist  after  this  manner.  An  object  may  be  said  to 
be  nowhere,  when  its  parts  are  not  so  situated  with 
respect  to  each  other,  as  to  form  any  figure  or  quantity ; 
nor  the  whole  with  respect  to  other  bodies  so  as  to 
answer  to  our  notions  of  contiguity  or  distance.  Now, 
this  is  evidently  the  case  with  all  our  perceptions  and 
objects,  except  those  of  the  sight  and  feeling.  A  moral 
reflection  cannot  be  placed  on  the  right  or  on  the  left 
hand  of  a  passion ;  nor  can  a  smell  or  sound  be  either 
of  a  circular  or  a  square  figure.  These  objects  and  per- 
ceptions, so  far  from  requiring  any  particular  place,  are 
absolutely  incompatible  with  it,  and  even  the  imagina- 
tion cannot  attribute  it  to  them.  And  as  to  the  absurdity 
of  supposing  them  to  be  nowhere,  we  may  consider,  that 
if  the  passions  and  sentiments  appear  to  the  perception 
to  have  any  particular  place,  the  idea  of  extension  might 
be  derived  from  them,  as  well  as  from  the  sight  and 
touch;  contrary  to  what  we  have  already  established. 
If  they  appear  not  to  have  any  particular  place,  they 
may  possibly  exist  in  the  same  manner ;  since  whatever 
we  conceive  is  possible. 

It  will  not  now  be  necessary  to  prove,  that  those  per- 
ceptions, which  are  simple,  and  exist  nowhere,  are  inca- 
pable of  any  conjunction  in  place  with  matter  or  body, 
which  is  extended  and  divisible ;  since  it  is  impossible 

vol.  i.  25 


294  OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

to  found  a  relation  but  on  some  common  quality  *  It 
may  be  better  worth  our  while  to  remark,  that  this  ques- 
tion of  the  local  conjunction  of  objects,  does  not  only 
occur  in  metaphysical  disputes  concerning  the  nature  of 
the  soul,  but  that  even  in  common  life  we  have  every 
moment  occasion  to  examine  it.  Thus,  supposing  we 
consider  a  fig  at  one  end  of  the  table,  and  an  olive  at 
the  other,  it  is  evident,  that,  in  forming  the  complex 
ideas  of  these  substances,  one  of  the  most  obvious  is  that 
of  their  different  relishes ;  and  it  is  as  evident,  that  we 
incorporate  and  conjoin  these  qualities  with  such  as  are 
colored  and  tangible.  The  bitter  taste  of  the  one,  and 
sweet  of  the  other,  are  supposed  to  lie  in  the  very  visi- 
ble body,  and  to  be  separated  from  each  other  by  the 
whole  length  of  the  table.  This  is  so  notable  and  so 
natural  an  illusion,  that  it  may  be  proper  to  consider  the 
principles  from  which  it  is  derived. 

Though  an  extended  object  be  incapable  of  a  con- 
junction in  place  with  another  that  exists  without  any 
place  or  extension,  yet  are  they  susceptible  of  many 
other  relations.  Thus  the  taste  and  smell  of  any  fruit 
are  inseparable  from  its  other  qualities  of  color  and  tan- 
gibility ;  and  whichever  of  them  be  the  cause  or  effect, 
it  is  certain  they  are  always  coexistent.  Nor  are  they 
only  coexistent  in  general,  but  also  contemporary  in 
their  appearance  in  the  mind  ;  and  it  is  upon  the  appli- 
cation of  the  extended  body  to  our  senses  we  perceive 
its  particular  taste  and  smell.  These  relations,  then,  of 
causation,  and  contiguity  in  the  time  of  their  appearance, 
betwixt  the  extended  object  and  the  quality,  which 
exists  without  any  particular  place,  must  have  such  an 
effect  on  the  mind,  that,  upon  the  appearance  of  one,  it 

*  Part  I.  Sect.  5, 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  295 

will  immediately  turn  its  thought  to  the  conception  of 
the  other.  Nor  is  this  all.  We  not  only  turn  our 
thought  from  one  to  the  other  upon  account  of  their 
relation,  but  likewise  endeavor  to  give  them  a  new  rela- 
tion, viz.  that  of  a  conjunction  in  place,  that  we  may  ren- 
der the  transition  more  easy  and  natural.  For  it  is  a 
quality,  which  I  shall  often  have  occasion  to  remark  in 
human  nature,  and  shall  explain  more  fully  in  its  proper 
place,  that,  when  objects  are  united  by  any  relation,  we 
have  a  strong  propensity  to  add  some  new  relation  to 
them,  in  order  to  complete  the  union.  In  our  arrange- 
ment of  bodies,  we  never  fail  to  place  such  as  are  resem- 
bling in  contiguity  to  each  other,  or,  at  least,  in  corres- 
pondent points  of  view :  why  ?  but  because  we  feel  a 
satisfaction  in  joining  the  relation  of  contiguity  to  that 
of  resemblance,  or  the  resemblance  of  situation  to  that 
of  qualities.  The  effects  of  this  propensity  have  been 
already  observed  *  in  that  resemblance,  which  we  so 
readily  suppose  betwixt  particular  impressions  and  their 
external  causes.  But  we  shall  not  find  a  more  evident 
effect  of  it  than  in  the  present  instance,  where,  from  the 
relations  of  causation  and  contiguity  in  time  betwixt 
two  objects,  wre  feign  likewise  that  of  a  conjunction  in 
place,  in  order  to  strengthen  the  connection. 

But  whatever  confused  notions  we  may  form  of  a 
union  in  place  betwixt  an  extended  body,  as  a  fig,  and 
its  particular  taste,  it  is  certain  that,  upon  reflection,  we 
must  observe  in  this  union  something  altogether  unin- 
telligible and  contradictory.  For,  should  we  ask  our- 
selves one  obvious  question,  viz.  if  the  taste,  which  we 
conceive  to  be  contained  in  the  circumference  of  the 
body,  is  in  every  part  of  it,  or  in  one  only,  we  must 

Sect.  2,  towards  the  end. 


296  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

quickly  find  ourselves  at  a  loss,  and  perceive  the  impos- 
sibility of  ever  giving  a  satisfactory  answer.  We  cannot 
reply  that  it  is  only  in  one  part :  for  experience  con- 
vinces us  that  every  part  has  the  same  relish.  We  can 
as  little  reply  that  it  exists  in  every  part :  for  then  we 
must  suppose  it  figured  and  extended;  wThich  is  absurd 
and  incomprehensible.  Here,  then,  we  are  influenced 
by  two  principles,  directly  contrary  to  each  other,  viz. 
that  inclination  of  our  fancy  by  which  wTe  are  determined 
to  incorporate  the  taste  with  the  extended  object,  and 
our  reason,  which  shows  us  the  impossibility  of  such  a 
union.  Being  divided  betwixt  these  opposite  principles, 
wTe  renounce  neither  one  nor  the  other,  but  involve  the 
subject  in  such  confusion  and  obscurity,  that  we  no 
longer  perceive  the  opposition.  We  suppose  that  the 
taste  exists  within  the  circumference  of  the  body,  but 
in  such  a  manner,  that  it  fills  the  whole  without  exten- 
sion, and  exists  entire  in  every  part  without  separation. 
In  short,  we  use,  in  our  most  familiar  way  of  thinking, 
that  scholastic  principle  which,  when  crudely  proposed, 
appears  so  shocking,  of  totam  in  toto,  et  totam  in  qualibet 
parte  :  which  is  much  the  same  as  if  we  should  say,  that 
a  thing  is  in  a  certain  place,  and  yet  is  not  there. 

All  this  absurdity  proceeds  from  our  endeavoring  to 
bestow  a  place  on  what  is  utterly  incapable  of  it ;  and 
that  endeavor  again  arises  from  our  inclination  to  com- 
plete a  union  which  is  founded  on  causation  and  a  con- 
tiguity of  time,  by  attributing  to  the  objects  a  conjunc- 
tion in  place.  But  if  ever  reason  be  of  sufficient  force 
to  overcome  prejudice,  it  is  certain  that,  in  the  present 
case,  it  must  prevail.  For  we  have  only  this  choice 
left,  either  to  suppose  that  some  beings  exist  without 
any  place,  or  that  they  are  figured  and  extended ;  or 
that  when  they  are  incorporated  with  extended  objects, 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  297 

the  whole  is  in  the  whole,  and  the  whole  in  every  part. 
The  absurdity  of  the  two  last  suppositions  proves  suffi- 
ciently the  veracity  of  the  first.  Nor  is  there  any 
fourth  opinion :  For  as  to  the  supposition  of  their  exist- 
ence in  the  manner  of  mathematical  points,  it  resolves 
itself  into  the  second  opinion,  and  supposes,  that  several 
passions  may  be  placed  in  a  circular  figure,  and  that  a 
certain  number  of  smells,  conjoined  with  a  certain  num- 
ber of  sounds,  may  make  a  body  of  twelve  cubic  inches ; 
which  appears  ridiculous  upon  the  bare  mentioning 
of  it. 

But  though  in  this  view  of  things  we  cannot  refuse 
to  condemn  the  materialists,  who  conjoin  all  thought 
with  extension  ;  yet  a  little  reflection  will  show  us  equal 
reason  for  blaming  their  antagonists,  who  conjoin  all 
thought  with  a  simple  and  indivisible  substance.  The 
most  vulgar  philosophy  informs  us,  that  no  external 
object  can  make  itself  known  to  the  mind  immediately, 
and  without  the  interposition  of  an  image  or  percep- 
tion. That  table,  which  just  now  appears  to  me,  is  only 
a  perception,  and  all  its  qualities  are  qualities  of  a  per- 
ception. Now,  the  most  obvious  of  all  its  qualities  is 
extension.  The  perception  consists  of  parts.  These 
parts  are  so  situated  as  to  afford  us  the  notion  of  dis- 
tance and  contiguity,  of  length,  breadth,  and  thickness. 
The  termination  of  these  three  dimensions  is  what  we 
call  figure.  This  figure  is  movable,  separate,  and  divis- 
ible. Mobility  and  separability  are  the  distinguishing 
properties  of  extended  objects.  And  to  cut  short  all 
disputes,  the  very  idea  of  extension  is  copied  from  noth- 
ing but  an  impression,  and  consequently  must  perfectly 
agree  to  it.  To  say  the  idea  of  extension  agrees  to  any 
thing,  is  to  say  it  is  extended. 

The  freethinker  may  now  triumph  in  his  turn ;  and 

25* 


298  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

having  found  there  are  impressions  and  ideas  really 
extended,  may  ask  his  antagonists,  how  they  can  incor- 
porate a  simple  and  indivisible  subject  with  an  extended 
perception?  All  the  arguments  of  theologians  may 
here  be  retorted  upon  them.  Is  the  indivisible  subject 
or  immaterial  substance,  if  you  will,  on  the  left  or  on 
the  right  hand  of  the  perception  ?  Is  it  in  this  particu- 
lar part,  or  in  that  other  ?  Is  it  in  every  part  without 
being  extended  ?  Or  is  it  entire  in  any  one  part  with- 
out deserting  the  rest  ?  It  is  impossible  to  give  any 
answer  to  these  questions  but  what  will  both  be  absurd 
in  itself,  and  will  account  for  the  union  of  our  indivisi- 
ble perceptions  with  an  extended  substance. 

This  gives  me  an  occasion  to  take  anew  into  considera- 
tion the  question  concerning  the  substance  of  the  soul ; 
and  though  I  have  condemned  that  question  as  utterly 
unintelligible,  yet  I  cannot  forbear  proposing  some 
further  reflections  concerning  it.  I  assert,  that  the  doc- 
trine of  the  immateriality,  simplicity,  and  indivisibility 
of  a  thinking  substance  is  a  true  atheism,  and  will  serve 
to  justify  all  those  sentiments  for  which  Spinoza  is  so 
universally  infamous.  From  this  topic  I  hope  at  least 
to  reap  one  advantage,  that  my  adversaries  will  not  have 
any  pretext  to  render  the  present  doctrine  odious  by 
their  declamations  when  they  see  that  they  can  be  so 
easily  retorted  on  them. 

The  fundamental  principle  of  the  atheism  of  Spinoza 
is  the  doctrine  of  the  simplicity  of  the  universe,  and  the 
unity  of  that  substance  in  which  he  supposes  both 
thought  and  matter  to  inhere.  There  is  only  one  sub- 
stance, says  he,  in  the  world,  and  that  substance  is  per- 
fectly simple  and  indivisible,  and  exists  everywhere 
without  any  local  presence.  Whatever  we  discover 
externally  by  sensation,  whatever  we  feel  internally  by 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  299 

reflection,  all  these  are  nothing  but  modifications  of  that 
one  simple  and  necessarily  existent  being,  and  are  not 
possessed  of  any  separate  or  distinct  existence.  Every 
passion  of  the  soul,  every  configuration  of  matter  how- 
ever different  and  various,  inhere  in  the  same  substance, 
and  preserve  in  themselves  their  characters  of  distinction, 
without  communicating  them  to  that  subject  in  which 
they  inhere.  The  same  substratum,  if  I  may  so  speak, 
supports  the  most  different  modifications  without  any 
difference  in  itself,  and  varies  them  without  any  varia- 
tion. Neither  time,  nor  place,  nor  all  the  diversity  of 
nature  are  able  to  produce  any  composition  or  change 
in  its  perfect  simplicity  and  identity. 

I  believe  this  brief  exposition  of  the  principles  of 
that  famous  atheist  will  be  sufficient  for  the  present  pur- 
pose, and  that  without  entering  further  into  these 
gloomy  and  obscure  regions,  I  shall  be  able  to  show,  that 
this  hideous  hypothesis  is  almost  the  same  with  that  of 
the  immateriality  of  the  soul,  which  has  become  so 
popular.  To  make  this  evident,  let  us  remember,*  that 
as  every  idea  is  derived  from  a  preceding  perception,  it 
is  impossible  our  idea  of  a  perception,  and  that  of  an 
object  or  external  existence,  can  ever  represent  what  are 
specifically  different  from  each  other.  Whatever  differ- 
ence we  may  suppose  betwixt  them,  it  is  still  incompre- 
hensible to  us ;  and  we  are  obliged  either  to  conceive 
an  external  object  merely  as  a  relation  without  a  rela- 
tive, or  to  make  it  the  very  same  with  a  perception  or 
impression. 

The  consequence  I  shall  draw  from  this  may,  at  first 
sight,  appear  a  mere  sophism ;  but  upon  the  least  exam- 
ination will  be  found  solid  and  satisfactory.     I  say  then, 

*  Part  II.  Sect.  6. 


300  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

that  since  we  may  suppose,  but  never  can  conceive,  a 
specific  difference  betwixt  an  object  and  impression,  any 
conclusion  we  form  concerning  the  connection  and 
repugnance  of  impressions,  will  not  be  known  certainly 
to  be  applicable  to  objects;  but  that,  on  the  other  hand, 
whatever  conclusions  of  this  kind  we  form  concerning 
objects,  will  most  certainly  be  applicable  to  impressions. 
The  reason  is  not  difficult.  As  an  object  is  supposed  to 
be  different  from  an  impression,  wre  cannot  be  sure,  that 
the  circumstance,  upon  which  we  found  our  reasoning, 
is  common  to  both,  supposing  we  form  the  reasoning 
upon  the  impression.  It  is  still  possible,  that  the  object 
may  differ  from  it  in  that  particular.  But  when  we  first 
form  our  reasoning  concerning  the  object,  it  is  beyond 
doubt,  that  the  same  reasoning  must  extend  to  the 
impression :  and  that  because  the  quality  of  the  object, 
upon  which  the  argument  is  founded,  must  at  least  be 
conceived  by  the  mind,  and  could  not  be  conceived, 
unless  it  were  common  to  an  impression ;  since  we  have 
no  idea  but  what  is  derived  from  that  origin.  Thus  we 
may  establish  it  as  a  certain  maxim,  that  we  can  never, 
by  any  principle,  but  by  an  irregular  kind  of  reasoning 
from  experience,*  discover  a  connection  or  repugnance 
betwixt  objects,  which  extends  not  to  impressions; 
though  the  inverse  proposition  may  not  be  equally  true, 
that  all  the  discoverable  relations  of  impressions  are 
common  to  objects. 

To  apply  this  to  the  present  case ;  there  are  two  dif- 
ferent systems  of  beings  presented,  to  which  I  suppose 
myself  under  a  necessity  of  assigning  some  substance, 
or  ground  of  inhesion.  I  observe  first  the  universe  of 
objects  or  of  body :  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars ;  the  earth, 

*  Such  as  that  of  Sect.  2,  from  the  coherence  of  our  perceptions. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  301 

seas,  plants,  animals,  men,  ships,  houses,  and  other  pro- 
ductions either  of  art  or  nature.  Here  Spinoza  appears, 
and  tells  me,  that  these  are  only  modifications  and  that 
the  subject  in  which  they  inhere  is  simple,  uncom- 
pounded,  and  indivisible.  After  this  I  consider  the 
other  system  of  beings,  viz.  the  universe  of  thought,  or 
my  impressions  and  ideas.  There  I  observe  another 
sun,  moon,  and  stars ;  an  earth,  and  seas,  covered  and 
inhabited  by  plants  and  animals ;  towns,  houses,  moun- 
tains, rivers ;  and  in  short  every  thing  I  can  discover  or 
conceive  in  the  first  system.  Upon  my  inquiring  con- 
cerning these,  theologians  present  themselves,  and  tell 
me,  that  these  also  are  modifications,  and  modifications 
of  one  simple,  uncompounded,  and  indivisible  substance. 
Immediately  upon  which  I  am  deafened  with  the  noise 
of  a  hundred  voices,  that  treat  the  first  hypothesis  with 
detestation  and  scorn,  and  the  second  with  applause  and 
veneration.  I  turn  my  attention  to  these  hypotheses  to 
see  what  may  be  the  reason  of  so  great  a  partiality ; 
and  find  that  they  have  the  same  fault  of  being  unintel- 
ligible, and  that,  as  far  as  we  can  understand  them,  they 
are  so  much  alike,  that  it  is  impossible  to  discover  any 
absurdity  in  one,  which  is  not  common  to  both  of  them. 
We  have  no  idea  of  any  quality  in  an  object,  which 
does  not  agree  to,  and  may  not  represent  a  quality  in  an 
impression ;  and  that  because  all  our  ideas  are  derived 
from  our  impressions.  We  can  never  therefore  find  any 
repugnance  betwixt  an  extended  object  as  a  modification, 
and  a  simple  uncompounded  essence,  as  its  substance, 
unless  that  repugnance  takes  place  equally  betwixt  the 
perception  or  impression  of  that  extended  object,  and 
the  same  uncompounded  essence.  Every  idea  of  a 
quality  in  an  object  passes  through  an  impression ;  and 
therefore  every  perceivable  relation,  whether  of  connec- 


302  OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

tion  or  repugnance,  must  be  common  both  to  objects 
and  impressions. 

But  though  this  argument,  considered  in  general, 
seems  evident  beyond  all  doubt  and  contradiction,  yet 
to  make  it  more  clear  and  sensible,  let  us  survey  it  in 
detail ;  and  see  whether  all  the  absurdities,  which  have 
been  found  in  the  system  of  Spinoza,  may  not  likewise 
be  discovered  in  that  of  theologians* 

First,  it  has  been  said  against  Spinoza,  according  to 
the  scholastic  way  of  talking,  rather  than  thinking,  that 
a  mode,  not  being  any  distinct  or  separate  existence, 
must  be  the  very  same  with  its  substance,  and  conse- 
quently the  extension  of  the  universe  must  be  in  a  man- 
ner identified  with  that  simple,  uncompounded  essence 
in  which  the  universe  is  supposed  to  inhere.  But  this, 
it  may  be  pretended,  is  utterly  impossible  and  incon- 
ceivable unless  the  indivisible  substance  expand  itself, 
so  as  to  correspond  to  the  extension,  or  the  extension 
contract  itself,  so  as  to  answer  to  the  indivisible  sub- 
stance. This  argument  seems  just,  as  far  as  we  can 
understand  it ;  and  it  is  plain  nothing  is  required,  but  a 
change  in  the  terms,  to  apply  the  same  argument  to 
our  extended  perceptions,  and  the  simple  essence  of 
the  soul ;  the  ideas  of  objects  and  perceptions  being  in 
every  respect  the  same,  only  attended  with  the  suppo- 
sition of  a  difference,  that  is  unknown  and  incompre- 
hensible. 

Secondly,  it  has  been  said,  that  we  have  no  idea  of 
substance,  which  is  not  applicable  to  matter ;  nor  any 
idea  of  a  distinct  substance,  which  is  not  applicable  to 
every  distinct  portion  of  matter.  Matter  therefore  is 
not  a  mode  but  a  substance,  and  each  part  of  matter  is 

*  See  Bayle's  Dictionary,  article  of  Spinoza. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  303 

not  a  distinct  mode,  but  a  distinct  substance.  I  have 
already  proved,  that  we  have  no  perfect  idea  of  sub- 
stance; but  that  taking  it  for  something  that  can  exist 
ly  itself,  it  is  evident  every  perception  is  a  substance, 
and  every  distinct  part  of  a  perception  a  distinct  sub- 
stance :  and  consequently  the  one  hypothesis  labors 
under  the  same  difficulties  in  this  respect  with  the 
other. 

Thirdly,  it  has  been  objected  to  the  system  of  one 
simple  substance  in  the  universe,  that  this  substance, 
being  the  support  or  substratum  of  every  thing,  must  at 
the  very  same  instant  be  modified  into  forms,  which  are 
contrary  and  incompatible.  The  round  and  square  fig- 
ures are  incompatible  in  the  same  substance  at  the  same 
time.  How  then  is  it  possible,  that  the  same  substance 
can  at  once  be  modified  into  that  square  table,  and 
into  this  round  one  ?  I  ask  the  same  question  con- 
cerning the  impressions  of  these  tables ;  and  find  that 
the  answer  is  no  more  satisfactory  in  one  case  than  in 
the  other. 

It  appears,  then,  that  to  whatever  side  we  turn,  the 
same  difficulties  follow  us,  and  that  we  cannot  advance 
one  step  towards  the  establishing  the  simplicity  and  im- 
materiality of  the  soul,  without  preparing  the  way  for  a 
dangerous  and  irrecoverable  atheism.  It  is  the  same 
case,  if,  instead  of  calling  thought  a  modification  of  the 
soul,  we  should  give  it  the  more  ancient,  and  yet  more 
modish  name  of  an  action.  By  an  action  we  mean  much 
the  same  thing  as  what  is  commonly  called  an  abstract 
mode ;  that  is,  something  which,  properly  speaking,  is 
neither  distinguishable,  nor  separable  from  its  substance, 
and  is  only  conceived  by  a  distinction  of  reason,  or  an 
abstraction.  But  nothing  is  gained  by  this  change  of 
the  term  of  modification  for  that  of  action ;  nor  do  we 


304  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

free  ourselves  from  one  single  difficulty  by  its  means,  as 
will  appear  from  the  two  following  reflections : 

First,  I  observe,  that  the  word  action,  according  to 
this  explication  of  it,  can  never  justly  be  applied  to  any 
perception,  as  derived  from  the  mind  or  thinking  sub- 
stance. Our  perceptions  are  all  really  different,  and  sep- 
arable, and  distinguishable  from  each  other,  and  from 
every  thing  else  which  we  can  imagine ;  and  therefore, 
it  is  impossible  to  conceive  how  they  can  be  the  action 
or  abstract  mode  of  any  substance.  The  instance  of 
motion,  which  is  commonly  made  use  of  to  show  after 
what  manner  perception  depends  as  an  action  upon  its 
substance,  rather  confounds  than  instructs  us.  Motion, 
to  all  appearance,  induces  no  real  nor  essential  change 
on  the  body,  but  only  varies  its  relation  to  other  objects. 
But,  betwixt  a  person  in  the  morning  walking  in  a  gar- 
den, with  company  agreeable  to  him ;  and  a  person  in 
the  afternoon  inclosed  in  a  dungeon,  and  full  of  terror, 
despair,  and  resentment,  there  seems  to  be  a  radical  dif- 
ference, and  of  quite  another  kind,  than  what  is  pro- 
duced on  a  body  by  the  change  of  its  situation.  As  we 
conclude  from  the  distinction  and  separability  of  their 
ideas,  that  external  objects  have  a  separate  existence 
from  each  other ;  so,  when  we  make  these  ideas  them- 
selves our  objects,  we  must  draw  the  same  conclusion 
concerning  them,  according  to  the  precedent  reasoning. 
At  least,  it  must  be  confessed,  that  having  no  idea  of  the 
substance  of  the  soul,  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  tell  how 
it  can  admit  of  such  differences,  and  even  contrarie- 
ties of  perception,  without  any  fundamental  change; 
and,  consequently,  can  never  tell  in  what  sense  percep- 
tions are  actions  of  that  substance.  The  use,  therefore, 
of  the  word  action,  unaccompanied  with  any  meaning, 
instead  of  that  of  modification,  makes  no  addition  to 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  305 

our  knowledge,  nor  is  of  any  advantage   to  the   doc- 
trine of  the  immateriality  of  the  soul. 

I  add,  in  the  second  place,  that  if  it  brings  any  advan- 
tage to  that  cause,  it  must  bring  an  equal  to  the  cause 
of  atheism.  For,  do  our  theologians  pretend  to  make 
a  monopoly  of  the  word  action,  and  may  not  the  atheists 
likewise  take  possession  of  it,  and  affirm  that  plants, 
animals,  men,  etc.,  are  nothing  but  particular  actions  of 
one  simple  universal  substance,  which  exerts  itself  from 
a  blind  and  absolute  necessity  ?  This  you  will  say,  is 
utterly  absurd.  I  own  it  is  unintelligible ;  but,  at  the 
same  time  assert,  according  to  the  principles  above  ex- 
plained, that  it  is  impossible  to  discover  any  absurdity 
in  the  supposition,  that  all  the  various  objects  in  nature 
are  actions  of  one  simple  substance,  which  absurdity 
will  not  be  applicable  to  a  like  supposition  concerning 
impressions  and  ideas. 

From  these  hypotheses  concerning  the  substance  and 
local  conjunction  of  our  perceptions,  we  may  pass  to 
another,  which  is  more  intelligible  than  the  former,  and 
more  important  than  the  latter,  viz.  concerning  the  cause 
of  our  perceptions.  Matter  and  motion,  it  is  commonly 
said  in  the  schools,  however  varied,  are  still  matter  and 
motion,  and  produce  only  a  difference  in  the  position 
and  situation  of  objects.  Divide  a  body  as  often  as  you 
please,  it  is  still  body.  Place  it  in  any  figure,  nothing 
ever  results  but  figure,  or  the  relation  of  parts.  Move 
it  in  any  manner,  you  still  find  motion  or  a  change  of 
relation.  It  is  absurd  to  imagine,  that  motion  in  a 
circle,  for  instance,  should  be  nothing  but  merely  motion 
in  a  circle ;  while  motion  in  another  direction,  as  in  an 
ellipse,  should  also  be  a  passion  or  moral  reflection  :  that 
the  shocking  of  two  globular  particles  should  become  a 
sensation  of  pain,  and  that  the  meeting  of  two  triangu- 

vol.  i.  26 


306  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

lar  ones  should  afford  a  pleasure.  Now  as  these  differ- 
ent shocks  and  variations  and  mixtures  are  the  only 
changes  of  which  matter  is  susceptible,  and  as  these 
never  afford  us  any  idea  of  thought  or  perception,  it  is 
concluded  to  be  impossible,  that  thought  can  ever  be 
caused  by  matter. 

Few  have  been  able  to  withstand  the  seeming  evi- 
dence of  this  argument ;  and  yet  nothing  in  the  world 
is  more  easy  than  to  refute  it.  We  need  only  reflect  on 
what  has  been  proved  at  large,  that  we  are  never  sensi- 
ble of  any  connection  betwixt  causes  and  effects,  and 
that  it  is  only  by  our  experience  of  their  constant  con- 
junction, we  can  arrive  at  any  knowledge  of  this  relation. 
Now,  as  all  objects,  which  are  not  contrary,  are  suscepti- 
ble of  a  constant  conjunction,  and  as  no  real  objects  are 
contrary ;  I  have  inferred  from  these  principles,*  that  to 
consider  the  matter  a  priori,  any  thing  may  produce  any 
thing,  and  that  we  shall  never  discover  a  reason,  why 
any  object  may  or  may  not  be  the  cause  of  any  other, 
however  great,  or  however  little  the  resemblance  may 
be  betwixt  them.  This  evidently  destroys  the  prece- 
dent reasoning  concerning  the  cause  of  thought  or  per- 
ception. For  though  there  appear  no  manner  of  con- 
nection betwixt  motion  or  thought,  the  case  is  the  same 
with  all  other  causes  and  effects.  Place  one  body  of  a 
pound  weight  on  one  end  of  a  lever,  and  another  body 
of  the  same  weight  on  another  end ;  you  will  never  find 
in  these  bodies  any  principle  of  motion  dependent  on 
their  distances  from  the  centre,  more  than  of  thought 
and  perception.  If  you  pretend,  therefore,  to  prove,  a 
priori,  that  such  a  position  of  bodies  can  never  cause 
thought ;  because,  turn  it  which  way  you  will,  it  is  noth- 

*  Part  III.  Sect.  15. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  307 

ing  but  a  position  of  bodies ;  you  must,  by  the  same 
course  of  reasoning  conclude,  that  it  can  never  produce 
motion ;  since  there  is  no  more  apparent  connection  in 
the  one  case  than  in  the  other.  But  as  this  latter  con- 
clusion is  contrary  to  evident  experience,  and  as  it  is 
possible  we  may  have  a  like  experience  in  the  opera- 
tions of  the  mind,  and  may  perceive  a  constant  conjunc- 
tion of  thought  and  motion ;  you  reason  too  hastily, 
when,  from  the  mere  consideration  of  the  ideas,  you  con- 
clude that  it  is  impossible  motion  can  ever  produce 
thought,  or  a  different  position  of  pasts  give  rise  to  a 
different  passion  or  reflection.  Nay,  it  is  not  only  possi- 
ble we  may  have  such  an  experience,  but  it  is  certain 
we  have  it ;  since  every  one  may  perceive,  that  the  dif- 
ferent dispositions  of  his  body  change  his  thoughts  and 
sentiments.  And  should  it  be  said,  that  this  depends  on 
the  union  of  soul  and  body,  I  would  answer,  that  we 
must  separate  the  question  concerning  the  substance  of 
the  mind  from  that  concerning  the  cause  of  its  thought ; 
and  that,  confining  ourselves  to  the  latter  question,  we 
find,  by  the  comparing  their  ideas,  that  thought  and 
motion  are  different  from  each  other,  and  by  experience, 
that  they  are  constantly  united;  which  being  all  the 
circumstances  that  enter  into  the  idea  of  cause  and 
effect,  when  applied  to  the  operations  of  matter,  we  may 
certainly  conclude,  that  motion  may  be,  and  actually  is, 
the  cause  of  thought  and  perception. 

There  seems  only  this  dilemma  left  us  in  the  present 
case ;  either  to  assert,  that  nothing  can  be  the  cause  of 
another,  but  where  the  mind  can  perceive  the  connec- 
tion in  its  idea  of  the  objects :  or  to  maintain,  that  all 
objects  which  we  find  constantly  conjoined,  are  upon 
that  account  to  be  regarded  as  causes  and  effects.  If 
we  choose  the  first  part  of  the  dilemma,  these  are  the 


308  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

consequences.  First,  we  in  reality  affirm,  that  there  is 
no  such  thing  in  the  universe  as  a  cause  or  productive 
principle,  not  even  the  Deity  himself;  since  our  idea  of 
that  Supreme  Being  is  derived  from  particular  impres- 
sions, none  of  which  contain  any  efficacy,  nor  seem  to 
have  any  connection  with  any  other  existence.  As  to 
what  may  be  said,  that  the  connection  betwixt  the  idea 
of  an  infinitely  powerful  Being  and  that  of  any  effect, 
which  he  wills,  is  necessary  and  unavoidable  ;  I  answer, 
that  we  have  no  idea  of  a  Being  endowed  with  any 
power,  much  less  of  one  endowed  with  infinite  power. 
But  if  we  will  change  expressions,  we  can  only  define 
power  by  connection ;  and  then  in  saying,  that  the  idea 
of  an  infinitely  powerful  Being  is  connected  with  that 
of  every  effect  which  he  wills,  we  really  do  no  more 
than  assert,  that  a  Being,  whose  volition  is  connected 
with  every  effect,  is  connected  with  every  effect;  which 
is  an  identical  proposition,  and  gives  us  no  insight  into 
the  nature  of  this  power  or  connection.  But,  secondly, 
supposing  that  the  Deity  were  the  great  and  efficacious 
principle  which  supplies  the  deficiency  of  all  causes,  this 
leads  us  into  the  grossest  impieties  and  absurdities.  For 
upon  the  same  account  that  we  have  recourse  to  him  in 
natural  operations,  and  assert  that  matter  cannot  of 
itself  communicate  motion,  or  produce  thought,  viz. 
because  there  is  no  apparent  connection  betwixt  these 
objects ;  I  say,  upon  the  very  same  account,  we  must 
acknowledge  that  the  Deity  is  the  author  of  all  our  voli- 
tions and  perceptions ;  since  they  have  no  more  apparent 
connection  either  with  one  another,  or  with  the  supposed 
but  unknown  substance  of  the  soul.  This  agency  of  the 
Supreme  Being  we  know  to  have  been  asserted  by  seve- 
ral philosophers*  with  relation  to  all  the  actions  of  the 

*  As  Father  Malebranche  and  other  Cartesians. 


OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  309 

mind,  except  volition,  or  rather  an  inconsiderable  part 
of  volition ;  though  it  is  easy  to  perceive,  that  this 
exception  is  a  mere  pretext,  to  avoid  the  dangerous  con- 
sequences of  that  doctrine.  If  nothing  be  active  but 
what  has  an  apparent  power,  thought  is  in  no  case  any 
more  active  than  matter;  and  if  this  inactivity  must 
make  us  have  recourse  to  a  Deity,  the  Supreme  Being 
is  the  real  cause  of  all  our  actions,  bad  as  well  as  good, 
vicious  as  well  as  virtuous. 

Thus  we  are  necessarily  reduced  to  the  other  side  of 
the  dilemmarviz.  that  all  objects,  which  are  found  to  be 
constantly  conjoined,  are  upon  that  account  only  to  be 
regarded  as  causes  and  effects.  Now,  as  all  objects 
which  are  not  contrary,  are  susceptible  of  a  constant 
conjunction,  and  as  no  real  objects  are  contrary ;  it  fol- 
lows, that,  for  ought  we  can  determine  by  the  mere 
ideas,  any  thing  may  be  the  cause  or  effect  of  any  thing ; 
which  evidently  gives  the  advantage  to  the  materialists 
above  their  antagonists. 

To  pronounce,  then,  the  final  decision  upon  the 
whole  :  the  question  concerning  the  substance  of  the 
soul  is  absolutely  unintelligible  :  all  our  perceptions  are 
not  susceptible  of  a  local  union,  either  with  what  is 
extended  or  unextended ;  there  being  some  of  them  of 
the  one  kind,  and  some  of  the  other:  and  as  the  con- 
stant conjunction  of  objects  constitutes  the  very  essence 
of  cause  and  effect,  matter  and  motion  may  often  be 
regarded  as  the  causes  of  thought,  as  far  as  we  have  any 
notion  of  that  relation. 

It  is  certainly  a  kind  of  indignity  to  philosophy,  whose 
sovereign  authority  ought  everywhere  to  be  acknowl- 
edged, to  oblige  her  on  every  occasion  to  make  apologies 
for  her  conclusions,  and  justify  herself  to  every  particu- 
lar art  and  science,  which  may  be  offended  at  her.    This 

26* 


310  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

puts  one  in  mind  of  a  king  arraigned  for  high  treason 
against  his  subjects.  There  is  only  one  occasion  when 
philosophy  will  think  it  necessary  and  even  honorable 
to  justify  herself;  and  that  is,  when  religion  may  seem 
to  be  in  the  least  offended ;  whose  rights  are  as  dear  to 
her  as  her  own,  and  are  indeed  the  same.  If  any  one, 
therefore,  should  imagine  that  the  foregoing  arguments 
are  anyways  dangerous  to  religion,  I  hope  the  following 
apology  will  remove  his  apprehensions. 

There  is  no  foundation  for  any  conclusion  a  priori, 
either  concerning  the  operations  or  duration  of  any 
object,  of  which  it  is  possible  for  the  human  mind  to 
form  a  conception.  Any  object  may  be  imagined  to 
become  entirely  inactive,  or  to  be  annihilated  in  a  mo- 
ment ;  and  it  is  an  evident  principle,  that  ivhatever  we  can 
imagine  is  possible.  Now  this  is  no  more  true  of  matter, 
than  of  spirit;  of  an  extended  compounded  substance, 
than  of  a  simple  and  unextended.  In  both  cases  the 
metaphysical  arguments  for  the  immortality  of  the  soul 
are  equally  inconclusive  ;  and  in  both  cases  the  moral 
arguments  and  those  derived  from  the  analogy  of  nature 
are  equally  strong  and  convincing.  If  my  philosophy 
therefore  makes  no  addition  to  the  arguments  for  reli- 
gion, I  have  at  least  the  satisfaction  to  think  it  takes 
nothing  from  them,  but  that  every  thing  remains  pre- 
cisely as  before. 


SECTION   VI. 

OF   PERSONAL   IDENTITY. 

There  are  some  philosophers,  who  imagine  we  are 
every  moment  intimately  conscious  of  what  we  call  our 


OF    THE   UNDERSTANDING.  311 

self ;  that  we  feel  its  existence  and  its  continuance  in 
existence ;  and  are  certain,  beyond  the  evidence  of  a 
demonstration,  both  of  its  perfect  identity  and  simpli- 
city. The  strongest  sensation,  the  most  violent  pas- 
sion, say  they,  instead  of  distracting  us  from  this  view, 
only  fix  it  the  more  intensely,  and  make  us  consider 
t-ieir  influence  on  self  either  by  their  pain  or  pleasure. 
To  attempt  a  further  proof  of  this  were  to  weaken  its 
evidence ;  since  no  proof  can  be  derived  from  any  fact 
of  which  we  are  so  intimately  conscious ;  nor  is  there 
any  thing,  of  which  we  can  be  certain,  if  we  doubt  of 
this. 

Unluckily  all  these  positive  assertions  are  contrary 
to  that  very  experience  which  is  pleaded  for  them  ;  nor 
have  we  any  idea  of  self,  after  the  manner  it  is  here 
explained.  For,  from  what  impression  could  this  idea 
be  derived?  This  question  it  is  impossible  to  answer 
without  a  manifest  contradiction  and  absurdity ;  and 
yet  it  is  a  question  which  must  necessarily  be  answered, 
if  we  would  have  the  idea  of  self  pass  for  clear  and  intel- 
ligible. It  must  be  some  one  impression  that  gives 
rise  to  every  real  idea.  But  self  or  person  is  not  any 
one  impression,  but  that  to  which  our  several  impres- 
sions and  ideas  are  supposed  to  have  a  reference.  If 
any  impression  gives  rise  to  the  idea  of  self,  that  impres- 
sion must  continue  invariably  the  same,  through  the 
whole  course  of  our  lives ;  since  self  is  supposed  to  exist 
after  that  manner.  But  there  is  no  impression  con- 
stant and  invariable.  Pain  and  pleasure,  grief  and  joy, 
passions  and  sensations  succeed  each  other,  and  never 
all  exist  at  the  same  time.  It  cannot  therefore  be  from 
any  of  these  impressions,  or  from  any  other,  that  the 
idea  of  self  is  derived  ;  and  consequently  there  is  no 
such  idea. 


312  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

But  further,  what  must  become  of  all  our  particular 
perceptions  upon  this  hypothesis?  All  these  are  dif- 
ferent, and  distinguishable,  and  separable  from  each 
other,  and  may  be  separately  considered,  and  may  exist 
separately,  and  have  no  need  of  any  thing  to  support 
their  existence.  After  what  manner  therefore  do  they 
belong  to  self,  and  how  are  they  connected  with  it  ? 
For  my  part,  when  I  enter  most  intimately  into  what  I 
call  myself,  I  always  stumble  on  some  particular  percep- 
tion or  other,  of  heat  or  cold,  light  or  shade,  love  or 
hatred,  pain  or  pleasure.  I  never  can  catch  myself  at 
any  time  without  a  perception,  and  never  can  observe 
any  thing  but  the  perception.  When  my  perceptions 
are  removed  for  any  time,  as  by  sound  sleep,  so  long  am 
I  insensible  of  myself,  and  may  truly  be  said  not  to  exist. 
And  were  all  my  perceptions  removed  by  death,  and 
could  I  neither  think,  nor  feel,  nor  see,  nor  love,  nor  hate, 
after  the  dissolution  of  my  body,  I  should  be  entirely 
annihilated,  nor  do  I  conceive  what  is  further  requisite 
to  make  me  a  perfect  nonentity.  If  any  one,  npon 
serious  and  unprejudiced  reflection,  thinks  he  has  a  dif- 
ferent notion  of  himself  I  must  confess  I  can  reason  no 
longer  with  him.  All  I  can  allow  him  is,  that  he  may 
be  in  the  right  as  well  as  I,  and  that  we  are  essentially 
different  in  this  particular.  He  may,  perhaps,  perceive 
something  simple  and  continued,  which  he  calls  him- 
self;  though  I  am  certain  there  is  no  such  principle 
in  me. 

But  setting  aside  some  metaphysicians  of  this  kind,  I 
may  venture  to  affirm  of  the  rest  of  mankind,  that  they 
are  nothing  but  a  bundle  or  collection  of  different  per- 
ceptions, wThich  succeed  each  other  with  an  inconceiva- 
ble rapidity,  and  are  in  a  perpetual  flux  and  movement. 
Our  eyes  cannot  turn  in  their  sockets  without  varying 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  313 

our  perceptions.  Our  thought  is  still  more  variable 
than  our  sight ;  and  all  our  other  senses  and  faculties 
contribute  to  this  change ;  nor  is  there  any  single 
power  of  the  soul,  which  remains  unalterably  the  same, 
perhaps  for  one  moment.  The  mind  is  a  kind  of 
theatre,  where  several  perceptions  successively  make 
their  appearance ;  pass,  repass,  glide  away,  and  mingle 
in  an  infinite  variety  of  postures  and  situations.  There 
is  properly  no  simplicity  in  it  at  one  time,  nor  identity  in 
different,  whatever  natural  propension  we  may  have  to 
imagine  that  simplicity  and  identity.  The  comparison 
of  the  theatre  must  not  mislead  us.  They  are  the  suc- 
cessive perceptions  only,  that  constitute  the  mind  ;  nor 
have  we  the  most  distant  notion  of  the  place  where 
these  scenes  are  represented,  or  of  the  materials  of 
which  it  is  composed. 

What  then  gives  us  so  great  a  propension  to  ascribe 
an  identity  to  these  successive  perceptions,  and  to  sup- 
pose ourselves  possessed  of  an  invariable  and  uninter- 
rupted existence  through  the  whole  course  of  our  lives  ? 
In  order  to  answer  this  question,  we  must  distinguish 
betwixt  personal  identity,  as  it  regards  our  thought  or 
imagination,  and  as  it  regards  our  passions  or  the  con- 
cern we  take  in  ourselves.  The  first  is  our  present 
subject;  and  to  explain  it  perfectly  we  must  take  the 
matter  pretty  deep,  and  account  for  that  identity,  which 
we  attribute  to  plants  and  animals  ;  there  being  a  great 
analogy  betwixt  it  and  the  identity  of  a  self  or  person. 

We  have  a  distinct  idea  of  an  object  that  remains 
invariable  and  uninterrupted  through  a  supposed  varia- 
tion of  time  ;  and  this  idea  we  call  that  of  identity  or 
sameness.  We  have  also  a  distinct  idea  of  several  dif- 
ferent objects  existing  in  succession,  and  connected 
together  by  a  close  relation  ;  and  this  to  an  accurate 


314  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

view  affords  as  perfect  a  notion  of  diversity/,  as  if  there 
was  no  manner  of  relation  among  the  objects.  But 
though  these  two  ideas  of  identity,  and  a  succession  of 
related  objects,  be  in  themselves  perfectly  distinct,  and 
even  contrary,  yet  it  is  certain  that,  in  our  common  way 
of  thinking,  they  are  generally  confounded  with  each 
other.  That  action  of  the  imagination,  by  which  we 
consider  the  uninterrupted  and  invariable  object,  and 
that  by  which  we  reflect  on  the  succession  of  related 
objects,  are  almost  the  same  to  the  feeling ;  nor  is  there 
much  more  effort  of  thought  required  in  the  latter  case 
than  in  the  former.  The  relation  facilitates  the  transi- 
tion of  the  mind  from  one  object  to  another,  and  renders 
its  passage  as  smooth  as  if  it  contemplated  one  continued 
object.  This  resemblance  is  the  cause  of  the  confusion 
and  mistake,  and  makes  us  substitute  the  notion  of 
identity,  instead  of  that  of  related  objects.  However  at 
one  instant  we  may  consider  the  related  succession  as 
variable  or  interrupted,  we  are  sure  the  next  to  ascribe 
to  it  a  perfect  identity,  and  regard  it  as  invariable  and 
uninterrupted.  Our  propensity  to  this  mistake  is  so 
great  from  the  resemblance  above  mentioned,  that  we 
fall  into  it  before  we  are  aware ;  and  though  we  inces- 
santly correct  ourselves  by  reflection,  and  return  to  a 
more  accurate  method  of  thinking,  yet  we  cannot  long 
sustain  our  philosophy,  or  take  off  this  bias  from  the 
imagination.  Our  last  resource  is  to  yield  to  it,  and 
boldly  assert  that  these  different  related  objects  are  in 
effect  the  same,  however  interrupted  and  variable.  In 
order  to  justify  to  ourselves  this  absurdity,  we  often 
feign  some  new  and  unintelligible  principle,  that  con- 
nects the  objects  together,  and  prevents  their  interrup- 
tion or  variation.  Thus,  we  feign  the  continued  existence 
of  the  perceptions  of  our  senses,  to  remove  the  interrup- 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  315 

tion ;  and  run  into  the  notion  of  a  soul,  and  self,  and 
substance,  to  disguise  the  variation.  But,  we  may  further 
observe,  that  where  we  do  not  give  rise  to  such  a  fiction, 
our  propension  to  confound  identity  with  relation  is  so 
great,  that  we  are  apt  to  imagine  something  unknown  and 
mysterious,*  connecting  the  parts,  beside  their  relation ; 
and  this  I  take  to  be  the  case  with  regard  to  the  identity 
we  ascribe  to  plants  and  vegetables.  And  even  when 
this  does  not  take  place,  we  still  feel  a  propensity  to  con- 
found these  ideas,  though  we  are  not  able  fully  to  satisfy 
ourselves  in  that  particular,  nor  find  any  thing  invaria- 
ble and  uninterrupted  to  justify  our  notion  of  identity. 
Thus,  the  controversy  concerning  identity  is  not 
merely  a  dispute  of  words.  For,  when  we  attribute 
identity,  in  an  improper  sense,  to  variable  or  interrupted 
objects,  our  mistake  is  not  confined  to  the  expression, 
but  is  commonly  attended  with  a  fiction,  either  of  some- 
thing invariable  and  uninterrupted,  or  of  something 
mysterious  and  inexplicable,  or  at  least  with  a  propen- 
sity to  such  fictions.  What  will  suffice  to  prove  this 
hypothesis  to  the  satisfaction  of  every  fair  inquirer,  is  to 
show,  from  daily  experience  and  observation,  that  the 
objects  which  are  variable  or  interrupted,  and  yet  are 
supposed  to  continue  the  same,  are  such  only  as  consist 
of  a  succession  of  parts,  connected  together  by  resem- 
blance, contiguity,  or  causation.  For  as  such  a  succes- 
sion answers  evidently  to  our  notion  of  diversity,  it  can 
only  be  by  mistake  we  ascribe  to  it  an  identity ;  and  as 
the  relation  of  parts,  which  leads  us  into  this  mistake,  is 

*  If  the  reader  is  desirous  to  see  how  a  great  genius  may  be  influenced  by 
these  seemingly  trivial  principles  of  the  imagination,  as  well  as  the  mere  vul- 
gar, let  him  read  my  Lord  Shaftesbury's  reasonings  concerning  the  uniting 
principle  of  the  universe,  and  the  identity  of  plants  and  animals.  See  his 
Moralists,  or  Philosophical  Rhajjsody. 


316  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

really  nothing  but  a  quality,  which  produces  an  associa- 
tion of  ideas,  and  an  easy  transition  of  the  imagination 
from  one  to  another,  it  can  only  be  from  the  resem- 
blance, which  this  act  of  the  mind  bears  to  that  by 
which  we  contemplate  one  continued  object,  that  the 
error  arises.  Our  chief  business,  then,  must  be  to  prove, 
that  all  objects,  to  which  we  ascribe  identity,  without 
observing  their  invariableness  and  uninterruptedness, 
are  such  as  consist  of  a  succession  of  related  objects. 

In  order  to  this,  suppose  any  mass  of  matter,  of  which 
the  parts  are  contiguous  and  connected,  to  be  placed 
before  us ;  it  is  plain  we  must  attribute  a  perfect  identity 
to  this  mass,  provided  all  the  parts  continue  uninter- 
ruptedly and  invariably  the  same,  whatever  motion  or 
change  of  place  we  may  observe  either  in  the  whole  or 
in  any  of  the  parts.  But  supposing  some  very  small  or 
inconsiderable  part  to  be  added  to  the  mass,  or  subtracted 
from  it ;  though  this  absolutely  destroys  the  identity  of 
the  whole,  strictly  speaking,  yet  as  we  seldom  think  so 
accurately,  we  scruple  not  to  pronounce  a  mass  of  mat- 
ter the  same,  where  we  find  so  trivial  an  alteration.  The 
passage  of  the  thought  from  the  object  before  the 
change  to  the  object  after  it,  is  so  smooth  and  easy,  that 
we  scarce  perceive  the  transition,  and  are  apt  to  imagine, 
that  it  is  nothing  but  a  continued  survey  of  the  same 
object. 

There  is  a  very  remarkable  circumstance  that  attends 
this  experiment ;  which  is,  that  though  the  change  of 
any  considerable  part  in  a  mass  of  matter  destroys  the 
identity  of  the  whole,  yet. we  must  measure  the  great- 
ness of  the  part,  not  absolutely,  but  by  its  proportion  to 
the  whole.  The  addition  or  diminution  of  a  mountain 
would  not  be  sufficient  to  produce  a  diversity  in  a 
planet ;  though  the  change  of  a  very  few  inches  would 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  317 

be  able  to  destroy  the  identity  of  some  bodies.  It  will 
be  impossible  to  account  for  this,  but  by  reflecting  that 
objects  operate  upon  the  mind,  and  break  or  interrupt 
the  continuity  of  its  actions,  not  according  to  their  real 
greatness,  but  according  to  their  proportion  to  each 
other  j  and  therefore,  since  this  interruption  makes  an 
object  cease  to  appear  the  same,  it  must  be  the  uninter- 
rupted progress  of  the  thought  which  constitutes  the 
imperfect  identity. 

This  may  be  confirmed  by  another  phenomenon.  A 
change  in  any  considerable  part  of  a  body  destroys  its 
identity ;  but  it  is  remarkable,  that  where  the  change  is 
produced  gradually  and  insensibly,  we  are  less  apt  to 
ascribe  to  it  the  same  effect.  The  reason  can  plainly  be 
no  other,  than  that  the  mind,  in  following  the  successive 
changes  of  the  body,  feels  an  easy  passage  from  the  sur- 
veying its  condition  in  one  moment,  to  the  viewing;  of  it 
in  another,  and  in  no  particular  time  perceives  any 
interruption  in  its  actions.  From  which  continued  per- 
ception, it  ascribes  a  continued  existence  and  identity  to 
the  object. 

But  whatever  precaution  we  may  use  in  introducing 
the  changes  gradually,  and  making  them  proportionable 
to  the  whole,  it  is  certain,  that  where  the  changes  are  at 
last  observed  to  become  considerable,  we  make  a  scruple 
of  ascribing  identity  to  such  different  objects.  There  is, 
however,  another  artifice,  by  which  we  may  induce  the 
imagination  to  advance  a  step  further ;  and  that  is,  by 
producing  a  reference  of  the  parts  to  each  other,  and  a 
combination  to  some  common  aid  or  purpose.  A  ship,  of 
which  a  considerable  part  has  been  changed  by  frequent 
reparations,  is  still  considered  as  the  same ;  nor  does  the 
difference  of  the  materials  hinder  us  from  ascribing  an 
identity  to  it.   The  common  end,  in  which  the  parts  con- 

vol.  i.  27 


318  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

spire,  is  the  same  under  all  their  variations,  and  affords 
an  easy  transition  of  the  imagination  from  one  situation 
of  the  body  to  another. 

But  this  is  still  more  remarkable,  when  we  add  a  sym- 
pathy of  parts  to  their  common  end,  and  suppose  that  they 
bear  to  each  other  .the  reciprocal  relation  of  cause  and 
effect  in  all  their  actions  and  operations.  This  is  the 
case  with  all  animals  and  vegetables ;  where  not  only 
the  several  parts  have  a  reference  to  some  general  pur- 
pose, but  also  a  mutual  dependence  on,  and  connection 
with,  each  other.  The  effect  of  so  strong  a  relation  is, 
that  though  every  one  must  allow,  that  in  a  very  few 
years  both  vegetables  and  animals  endure  a  total 
change,  yet  we  still  attribute  identity  to  them,  while 
their  form,  size,  and  substance,  are  entirely  altered.  An 
oak  that  grows  from  a  small  plant  to  a  large  tree  is  still 
the  same  oak,  though  there  be  not  one  particle  of  mat- 
ter or  figure  of  its  parts  the  same.  An  infant  becomes 
a  man,  and  is  sometimes  fat,  sometimes  lean,  without 
any  change  in  his  identity. 

We  may  also  consider  the  two  following  phenomena, 
which  are  remarkable  in  their  kind.  The  first  is,  that 
though  we  commonly  be  able  to  distinguish  pretty 
exactly  betwixt  numerical  and  specific  identity,  yet  it 
sometimes  happens  that  we  confound  them,  and  in  our 
thinking  and  reasoning  employ  the  one  for  the  other. 
Thus,  a  man  who  hears  a  noise  that  is  frequently  inter- 
rupted and  renewed,  says  it  is  still  the  same  noise, 
though  it  is  evident  the  sounds  have  only  a  specific 
identity  or  resemblance,  and  there  is  nothing  numeri- 
cally the  same  but  the  cause  which  produced  them.  In 
like  manner  it  may  be  said,  without  breach  of  the  pro- 
priety of  language,  that  such  a  church,  which  was  for- 
merly of  brick,  fell  to  ruin,  and  that  the  parish  rebuilt 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  319 

the  same  church  of  freestone,  and  according  to  modern 
architecture.  Here  neither  the  form  nor  materials  are  the 
same,  nor  is  there  any  thing  common  to  the  two  objects 
but  their  relation  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  parish ;  and 
yet  this  alone  is  sufficient  to  make  us  denominate  them 
the  same.  But  we  must  observe,  that  in  these  cases  the 
first  object  is  in  a  manner  annihilated  before  the  second 
comes  into  existence  ;  by  which  means,  we  are  never 
presented,  in  any  one  point  of  time,  with  the  idea  of 
difference  and  multiplicity ;  and  for  that  reason  are  less 
scrupulous  in  calling  them  the  same. 

Secondly,  we  may  remark,  that  though,  in  a  succes- 
sion of  related  objects,  it  be  in  a  manner  requisite  that 
the  change  of  parts  be  not  sudden  nor  entire,  in  order 
to  preserve  the  identity,  yet  where  the  objects  are  in 
their  nature  changeable  and  inconstant,  we  admit  of  a 
more  sudden  transition  than  would  otherwise  be  con- 
sistent with  that  relation.  Thus,  as  the  nature  of  a 
river  consists  in  the  motion  and  change  of  parts,  though 
in  less  than  four-and-twenty  hours  these  be  totally 
altered,  this  hinders  not  the  river  from  continuing  the 
same  during  several  ages.  What  is  natural  and  essen- 
tial to  any  thing  is,  in  a  manner,  expected  ;  and  what 
is  expected  makes  less  impression,  and  appears  of  less 
moment  than  what  is  unusual  and  extraordinary.  A 
considerable  change  of  the  former  kind  seems  really 
less  to  the  imagination  than  the  most  trivial  altera- 
tion of  the  latter;  and  by  breaking  less  the  continuity 
of  the  thought,  has  less  influence  in  destroying  the 
identity. 

We  now  proceed  to  explain  the  nature  of  personal 
identity,  which  has  become  so  great  a  question  in  philoso- 
phy, especially  of  late  years,  in  England,  where  all  the 
abstruser  sciences  are  studied  with  a  peculiar  ardor  and 


320  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

application.  And  here  it  is  evident  the  same  method  of 
reasoning  must  be  continued  which  has  so  successfully 
explained  the  identity  of  plants,  and  animals,  and  ships, 
and  houses,  and  of  all  compounded  and  changeable  pro- 
ductions either  of  art  or  nature.  The  identity  which 
we  ascribe  to  the  mind  of  man  is  only  a  fictitious  one, 
and  of  a  like  kind  with  that  which  we  ascribe  to  vege- 
table and  animal  bodies.  It  cannot  therefore  have  a  dif- 
ferent origin,  but  must  proceed  from  a  like  operation  of 
the  imagination  upon  like  objects. 

But  lest  this  argument  should  not  convince  the  reader, 
though  in  my  opinion  perfectly  decisive,  let  him  weigh 
the  following  reasoning,  which  is  still  closer  and  more 
immediate.  It  is  evident  that  the  identity  which  we 
attribute  to  the  human  mind,  however  perfect  we  may 
imagine  it  to  be,  is  not  able  to  run  the  several  different 
perceptions  into  one,  and  make  them  lose  their  charac- 
ters of  distinction  and  difference,  which  are  essential  to 
them.  It  is  still  true  that  every  distinct  perception 
which  enters  into  the  composition  of  the  mind,  is  a  dis- 
tinct existence,  and  is  different,  and  distinguishable,  and 
separable  from  every  other  perception,  either  contempo- 
rary or  successive.  But  as,  notwithstanding  this  distinc- 
tion and  separability,  we  suppose  the  whole  train  of 
perceptions  to  be  united  by  identity,  a  question  natu- 
rally arises  concerning  this  relation  of  identity,  whether 
it  be  something  that  really  binds  our  several  perceptions 
together,  or  only  associates  their  ideas  in  the  imagina- 
tion ;  that  is,  in  other  words,  whether,  in  pronouncing 
concerning  the  identity  of  a  person,  we  observe  some 
real  bond  among  his  perceptions,  or  only  feel  one  among 
the  ideas  we  form  of  them.  This  question  we  might 
easily  decide,  if  we  would  recollect  what  has  been 
already  proved  at  large,  that  the   understanding  never 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  321 

observes  any  real  connection  among  objects,  and  that 
even  the  union  of  cause  and  effect,  when  strictly  exam- 
ined, resolves  itself  into  a  customary  association  of  ideas. 
For  from  thence  it  evidently  follows,  that  identity  is 
nothing  really  belonging  to  these  different  perceptions, 
and  uniting  them  together,  but  is  merely  a  quality 
which  we  attribute  to  them,  because  of  the  union  of 
their  ideas  in  the  imagination  when  we  reflect  upon 
them.  Now,  the  only  qualities  which  can  give  ideas  a 
union  in  the  imagination,  are  these  three  relations  above 
mentioned.  These  are  the  uniting  principles  in  the  ideal 
wrorld,  and  without  them  every  distinct  object  is  separa- 
ble by  the  mind,  and  may  be  separately  considered,  and 
appears  not  to  have  any  more  connection  with  any  other 
object  than  if  disjoined  by  the  greatest  difference  and  re- 
moteness. It  is  therefore  on  some  of  these  three  relations 
of  resemblance,  contiguity,  and  causation,  that  identity 
depends  ;  and  as  the  very  essence  of  these  relations  con- 
sists in  their  producing  an  easy  transition  of  ideas,  it 
follows,  that  our  notions  of  personal  identity  proceed 
entirely  from  the  smooth  and  uninterrupted  progress  of 
the  thought  along  a  train  of  connected  ideas,  according 
to  the  principles  above  explained. 

The  only  question,  therefore,  which  remains  is,  by 
what  relations  this  uninterrupted  progress  of  our  thought 
is  produced,  when  we  consider  the  successive  existence 
of  a  mind  or  thinking  person.  And  here  it  is  evident 
we  must  confine  ourselves  to  resemblance  and  causation, 
and  must  drop  contiguity,  which  has  little  or  no  influ- 
ence in  the  present  case. 

To  begin  with  resemblance;  suppose  we  could  see 
clearly  into  the  breast  of  another,  and  observe  that  suc- 
cession of  perceptions  which  constitutes  his  mind  or 
thinking  principle,  and  suppose  that  he  always  preserves 

27* 


322  OF    THE    UNDERSTANDING. 

the  memory  of  a  considerable  part  of  past  perceptions, 
it  is  evident  that  nothing  could  more  contribute  to  the 
bestowing  a  relation  on  this  succession  amidst  all  its 
variations.  For  what  is  the  memory  but  a  faculty,  by 
which  we  raise  up  the  images  of  past  perceptions  ?  And 
as  an  image  necessarily  resembles  its  object,  must  not 
the  frequent  placing  of  these  resembling  perceptions  in 
the  chain  of  thought,  convey  the  imagination  more 
easily  from  one  link  to  another,  and  make  the  whole 
seem  like  the  continuance  of  one  object?  In  this  par- 
ticular, then,  the  memory  not  only  discovers  the  identity, 
but  also  contributes  to  its  production,  by  producing  the 
relation  of  resemblance  among  the  perceptions.  The 
case  is  the  same,  whether  we  consider  ourselves  or 
others. 

As  to  causation ;  we  may  observe,  that  the  true  idea  of 
the  human  mind,  is  to  consider  it  as  a  system  of  different 
perceptions  or  different  existences,  which  are  linked 
together  by  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect,  and 
mutually  produce,  destroy,  influence,  and  modify  each 
other.  Our  impressions  give  rise  to  their  correspondent 
ideas ;  and  these  ideas,  in  their  turn,  produce  other 
impressions.  One  thought  chases  another,  and  draws 
after  it  a  third,  by  which  it  is  expelled  in  its  turn.  In 
this  respect,  I  cannot  compare  the  soul  more  properly 
to  any  thing  than  to  a  republic  or  commonwealth,  in 
which  the  several  members  are  united  by  the  reciprocal 
ties  of  government  and  subordination,  and  give  rise  to 
other  persons  who  propagate  the  same  republic  in  the 
incessant  changes  of  its  parts.  And  as  the  same  indi- 
vidual republic  may  not  only  change  its  members,  but 
also  its  laws  and  constitutions ;  in  like  manner  the  same 
person  may  vary  his  character  and  disposition,  as  well  as 
his  impressions  and  ideas,  without  losing  his  identity. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  323 

Whatever  changes  he  endures,  his  several  parts  are  still 
connected  by  the  relation  of  causation.  And  in  this 
view  our  identity  with  regard  to  the  passions  serves  to 
corroborate  that  with  regard  to  the  imagination,  by  the 
making  our  distant  perceptions  influence  each  other,  and 
by  giving  us  a  present  concern  for  our  past  or  future 
pains  or  pleasures. 

As  memory  alone  acquaints  us  with  the  continuance 
and  extent  of  this  succession  of  perceptions,  it  is  to  be 
considered,  upon  that  account  chiefly,  as  the  source  of 
personal  identity.  Had  we  no  memory,  we  never  should 
have  any  notion  of  causation,  nor  consequently  of  that 
chain  of  causes  and  effects,  which  constitute  our  self  or 
person.  But  having  once  acquired  this  notion  of  causa- 
tion from  the  memory,  w7e  can  extend  the  same  chain  of 
causes,  and  consequently  the  identity  of  our  persons 
beyond  our  memory,  and  can  comprehend  times,  and 
circumstances,  and  actions,  which  we  have  entirely  for- 
got, but  suppose  in  general  to  have  existed.  For  how 
few  of  our  past  actions  are  there,  of  which  we  have  any 
memory  ?  Who  can  tell  me,  for  instance,  what  were  his 
thoughts  and  actions  on  the  first  of  January  1715,  the 
eleventh  of  March  1719,  and  the  third  of  August  1733? 
Or  will  he  affirm,  because  he  has  entirely  forgot  the  inci- 
dents of  these  days,  that  the  present  self  is  not  the  same 
person  with  the  self  of  that  'time  ;  and  by  that  means 
overturn  all  the  most  established  notions  of  personal 
identity  ?  In  this  view,  therefore,  memory  does  not  so 
much  produce  as  discover  personal  identity,  by  showing  us 
the  relation  of  cause  and  effect  among  our  different  per- 
ceptions. It  will  be  incumbent  on  those  who  affirm  that 
memory  produces  entirely  our  personal  identity,  to  give 
a  reason  why  we  can  thus  extend  our  identity  beyond 
our  memory. 


324  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

The  whole  of  this  doctrine  lends  us  to  a  conclusion, 
which  is  of  great  importance  in  the  present  affair,  viz. 
that  all  the  nice  and  subtile  questions  concerning  per- 
sonal identity  can  never  possibly  be  decided,  and  are  to 
be  regarded  rather  as  grammatical  than  as  philosophical 
difficulties.  Identity  depends  on  the  relations  of  ideas; 
and  these  relations  produce  identity,  by  means  of  that 
easy  transition  they  occasion.  But  as  the  relations,  and 
the  easiness  of  the  transition  may  diminish  by  insensible 
degrees,  we  have  no  just  standard  by  which  we  can 
decide  any  dispute  concerning  the  time  when  they 
acquire  or  lose  a  title  to  the  name  of  identity.  All  the 
disputes  concerning  the  identity  of  connected  objects 
are  merely  verbal,  except  so  far  as  the  relation  of  parts 
gives  rise  to  some  fiction  or  imaginary  principle  of  union, 
as  we  have  already  observed. 

What  I  have  said  concerning  the  first  origin  and 
uncertainty  of  our  notion  of  identity,  as  applied  to  the 
human  mind,  may  be  extended  with  little  or  no  varia- 
tion to  that  of  simplicity.  An  object,  whose  different 
coexistent  parts  are  bound  together  by  a  close  relation, 
operates  upon  the  imagination  after  much  the  same 
manner  as  one  perfectly  simple  and  indivisible,  and 
requires  not  a  much  greater  stretch  of  thought  in  order 
to  its  conception.  From  this  similarity  of  operation  we 
attribute  a  simplicity  to  it,  and  feign  a  principle  of  union 
as  the  support  of  this  simplicity,  and  the  centre  of  all 
the  different  parts  and  qualities  of  the  object. 

Thus  we  have  finished  our  examination  of  the  seve- 
ral systems  of  philosophy,  both  of  the  intellectual  and 
moral  world  ;  and,  in  our  miscellaneous  way  of  reason- 
ing, have  been  led  into  several  topics,  which  will  either 
illustrate  and  confirm  some  preceding  part  of  this  dis- 
course, or  prepare  the  way  for  our  following  opinions. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  325 

It  is  now  time  to  return  to  a  more  close  examination  of 
our  subject,  and  to  proceed  in  the  accurate  anatomy  of 
human  nature,  having  fully  explained  the  nature  of  our 
judgment  and  understanding. 


SECTION   VII. 

CONCLUSION    OF   THIS    BOOK. 

But  before  I  launch  out  into  those  immense  depths  of 
philosophy  which  lie  before  me,  I  find  myself  inclined 
to  stop  a  moment  in  my  present  station,  and  to  ponder 
that  voyage  which  I  have  undertaken,  and  which 
undoubtedly  requires  the  utmost  art  and  industry  to  be 
brought  to  a  happy  conclusion.  Me  thinks  I  am  like  a 
man,  who,  having  struck  on  many  shoals,  and  having 
narrowly  escaped  shipwreck  in  passing  a  small  frith,  has 
yet  the  temerity  to  put  out  to  sea  in  the  same  leaky 
weather-beaten  vessel,  and  even  carries  his  ambition  so 
far  as  to  think  of  compassing  the  globe  under  these  dis- 
advantageous circumstances.  My  memory  of 'past  errors 
and  perplexities  makes  me  diffident  for  the  future.  The 
wretched  condition,  weakness,  and  disorder  of  the  facul- 
ties, I  must  employ  in  my  inquiries,  increase  my  appre- 
hensions. And  the  impossibility  of  amending  or  cor- 
recting these  faculties,  reduces  me  almost  to  despair,  and 
makes  me  resolve  to  perish  on  the  barren  rock,  on  which 
I  am  at  present,  rather  than  venture  myself  upon  that 
boundless  ocean  which  runs  out  into  immensity.  This 
sudden  view  of  my  danger  strikes  me  with  melancholy ; 
and,  as  it  is  usual  for  that  passion,  above  all  others,  to 
indulge  itself,  I  cannot  forbear  feeding  my  despair  with 
all  those  desponding  reflections  which  the  present  sub- 
ject furnishes  me  with  in  such  abundance. 


326  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

I  am  first  affrighted  and  confounded  with  that  forlorn 
solitude  in  which  I  am  placed  in  my  philosophy,  and 
fancy  myself  some  strange  uncouth  monster,  who,  not 
being  able  to  mingle  and  unite  in  society,  has  been 
expelled  all  human  commerce,  and  left  utterly  aban- 
doned and  disconsolate.  Fain  would  I  run  into  the 
crowd  for  shelter  and  warmth,  but  cannot  prevail  with 
myself  to  mix  with  such  deformity.  I  call  upon  others 
to  join  me,  in  order  to  make  a  company  apart,  but  no 
one  will  hearken  to  me.  Every  one  keeps  at  a  distance, 
and  dreads  that  storm  which  beats  upon  me  from  every 
side.  I  have  exposed  myself  to  the  enmity  of  all  meta- 
physicians, logicians,  mathematicians,  and  even  theolo- 
gians ;  and  can  I  wonder  at  the  insults  I  must  suffer  ? 
1  have  declared  my  disapprobation  of  their  systems; 
and  can  I  be  surprised  if  they  should  express  a  hatred 
of  mine  and  of  my  person  ?  When  I  look  abroad,  I 
foresee  on  every  side  dispute,  contradiction,  anger, 
calumny,  and  detraction.  When  I  turn  my  eye  inward, 
I  find  nothing  but  doubt  and  ignorance.  All  the  world 
conspires  to  oppose  and  contradict  me  ;  though  such  is 
my  weakness,  that  I  feel  all  my  opinions  loosen  and  fall 
of  themselves,  when  unsupported  by  the  approbation  of 
others.  Every  step  I  take  is  with  hesitation,  and  every 
new  reflection  makes  me  dread  an  error  and  absurdity 
in  my  reasoning. 

For  with  what  confidence  can  I  venture  upon  such 
bold  enterprises,  when,  beside  those  numberless  infirmi- 
ties peculiar  to  myself,  I  find  so  many  which  are  com- 
mon to  human  nature  ?  Can  I  be  sure  that,  in  leaving 
all  established  opinions,  I  am  following  truth  ?  and  by 
what  criterion  shall  I  distinguish  her,  even  if  fortune 
should  at  last  guide  me  on  her  footsteps  ?  After  the 
most  accurate  and  exact  of  my  reasonings,  I  can  give 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  327 

no  reason  why  I  should  assent  to  it,  and  feel  nothing 
but  a  strong  propensity  to  consider  objects  strongly  in 
that  view  under  which  they  appear  to  me.  Experience 
is  a  principle  which  instructs  me  in  the  several  conjunc- 
tions of  objects  for  the  past.  Habit  is  another  principle 
which  determines  me  to  expect  the  same  for  the  future  ; 
and  both  of  them  conspiring  to  operate  upon  the  imagi- 
nation, make  me  form  certain  ideas  in  a  more  intense 
and  lively  manner  than  others  which  are  not  attended 
with  the  same  advantages.  Without  this  quality,  by 
wThich  the  mind  enlivens  some  ideas  beyond  others 
(which  seemingly  is  so  trivial,  and  so  little  founded  on 
reason),  we  could  never  assent  to  any  argument,  nor 
carry  our  view  beyond  those  few  objects  which  are  pres- 
ent to  our  senses.  Nay,  even  to  these  objects  we  could 
never  attribute  any  existence  but  wrhat  was  dependent 
on  the  senses,  and  must  comprehend  them  entirely  in 
that  succession  of  perceptions  which  constitutes  our  self 
or  person.  Nay,  further,  even  with  relation  to  that  suc- 
cession, we  could  only  admit  of  those  perceptions  which 
are  immediately  present  to  our  consciousness ;  nor  could 
those  lively  images,  with  which  the  memory  presents  us, 
be  ever  received  as  true  pictures  of  past  perceptions. 
The  memory,  senses,  and  understanding  are  therefore  all 
of  them  founded  on  the  imagination,  or  the  vivacity  of 
our  ideas. 

No  wonder  a  principle  so  inconstant  and  fallacious 
should  lead  us  into  errors  when  implicitly  followed  (as  it 
must  be)  in  all  its  variations.  It  is  this  principle  which 
makes  us  reason  from  cause  and  effect ;  and  it  is  the 
same  principle  w7hich  convinces  us  of  the  continued 
existence  of  external  objects  when  absent  from  the 
senses.  But  though  these  two  operations  be  equally 
natural  and  necessary  in  the  human  mind,  yet  in  some 


328  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

circumstances  they  are  directly  contrary  ;*  nor  is  it  pos- 
sible for  us  to  reason  justly  and  regularly  from  causes 
and  effects,  and  at  the  same  time  believe  the  continued 
existence  of  matter?  How  shall  we  adjust  those  prin- 
ciples together  ?  Which  of  them  shall  we  prefer  ?  Or 
in  case  we  prefer  neither  of  them,  but  successively 
assent  to  both,  as  is  usual  among  philosophers,  with 
what  confidence  can  we  afterwards  usurp  that  glorious 
title,  when  we  thus  knowingly  embrace  a  manifest  con- 
tradiction ? 

This  contradiction*!*  would  be  more  excusable  were 
it  compensated  by  any  degree  of  solidity  and  satisfac- 
tion in  the  other  parts  of  our  reasoning.  But  the  case 
is  quite  contrary.  When  we  trace  up  the  human  under- 
standing to  its  first  principles,  we  find  it  to  lead  us  into 
such  sentiments  as  seem  to  turn  into  ridicule  all  our 
past  pains  and  industry,  and  to  discourage  us  from 
future  inquiries.  Nothing  is  more  curiously  inquired 
after  by  the  mind  of  man  than  the  causes  of  every  phe- 
nomenon ;  nor  are  we  content  with  knowing  the  imme- 
diate causes,  but  push  on  our  inquiries  till  we  arrive 
at  the  original  and  ultimate  principle.  We  would  not 
willingly  stop  before  we  are  acquainted  with  that  energy 
in  the  cause  by  which  it  operates  on  its  effect ;  that  tie, 
which  connects  them  together;  and  that  efficacious 
quality  on  which  the  tie  depends.  This  is  our  aim  in 
all  our  studies  and  reflections  :  and  how  must  we  be  dis- 
appointed wThen  we  learn  that  this  connection,  tie,  or 
energy  lies  merely  in  ourselves,  and  is  nothing  but  that 
determination  of  the  mind  which  is  acquired  by  custom, 
and  causes  us  to  make  a  transition  from  an  object  to  its 
usual  attendant,  and  from  the  impression  of  one  to  the 

*  Sect.  4.  f  Part  III.  Sect.l-! 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  329 

lively  idea  of  the  other  ?  Such  a  discovery  not  only 
cuts  off  all  hope  of  ever  attaining  satisfaction,  but  even 
prevents  our  very  wishes;  since  it  appears,  that  when 
we  say  we  desire  to  know  the  ultimate  and  operating 
principle  as  something  which  resides  in  the  external 
object,  we  either  contradict  ourselves,  or  talk  without  a 
meaning. 

This  deficiency  in  our  ideas  is  not  indeed  perceived 
in  common  life,  nor  are  we  sensible  that,  in  the  most 
usual  conjunctions  of  cause  and  effect,  we  are  as  igno- 
rant of  the  ultimate  principle  which  binds  them  together, 
as  in  the  most  unusual  and  extraordinary.  But  this 
proceeds  merely  from  an  illusion  of  the  imagination ; 
and  the  question  is,  how  far  we  ought  to  yield  to  these 
illusions.  This  question  is  very  difficult,  and  reduces 
us  to  a  very  dangerous  dilemma,  whichever  way  we 
answer  it.  For  if  we  assent  to  every  trivial  suggestion 
of  the  fancy,  beside  that  these  suggestions  are  often 
contrary  to  each  other,  they  lead  us  into  such  errors, 
absurdities,  and  obscurities,  that  we  must  at  last  become 
ashamed  of  our  credulity.  Nothing  is  more  dangerous 
to  reason  than  the  flights  of  the  imagination,  and  noth- 
ing has  been  the  occasion  of  more  mistakes  among 
philosophers.  Men  of  bright  fancies  may  in  this  re- 
spect be  compared  to  those  angels,  whom  the  Scripture 
represents  as  covering  their  eyes  with  their  wings.  This 
has  already  appeared  in  so  many  instances,  that  we 
may  spare  ourselves  the  trouble  of  enlarging  upon  it 
any  further. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  consideration  of  these 
instances  makes  us  take  a  resolution  to  reject  all  the 
trivial  suggestions  of  the  fancy,  and  adhere  to  the  under- 
standing, that  is,  to  the  general  and  more  established 
properties  of  the  imagination ;  even  this  resolution,  if 
vol.  i.  28 


330  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

steadily  executed,  would  be  dangerous,  and  attended 
with  the  most  fatal  consequences.  For  I  have  already 
shown,*  that  the  understanding,  when  it  acts  alone,  and 
according  to  its  most  general  principles,  entirely  subverts 
itself,  and  leaves  not  the  lowest  degree  of  evidence  in 
any  proposition,  either  in  philosophy  or  common  life. 
We  save  ourselves  from  this  total  scepticism  only  by 
means  of  that  singular  and  seemingly  trivial  property  of 
the  fancy,  by  which  we  enter  with  difficulty  into  remote 
views  of  things,  and  are  not  able  to  accompany  them 
with  so  sensible  an  impression,  as  we  do  those  which  are 
more  easy  and  natural.  Shall  we,  then,  establish  it  for 
a  general  maxim,  that  no  refined  or  elaborate  reasoning 
is  ever  to  be  received  ?  Consider  well  the  consequences 
of  such  a  principle.  By  this  means  you  cut  off  entirely 
all  science  and  philosophy :  you  proceed  upon  one  sin- 
gular quality  of  the  imagination,  and  by  a  parity  of 
reason  must  embrace  all  of  them  :  and  you  expressly 
contradict  yourself;  since  this  maxim  must  be  built  on 
the  preceding  reasoning,  which  will  be  allowed  to  be 
sufficiently  refined  and  metaphysical.  What  party,  then, 
shall  we  choose  among  these  difficulties  ?  If  we  embrace 
this  principle,  and  condemn  all  refined  reasoning,  we 
run  into  the  most  manifest  absurdities.  If  we  reject  it 
in  favor  of  these  reasonings,  we  subvert  entirely  the 
human  understanding.  We  have  therefore  no  choice 
left,  but  betwixt  a  false  reason  and  none  at  all.  For  my 
part,  I  know  not  what  ought  to  be  done  in  the  present 
case.  I  can  only  observe  what  is  commonly  done ;  which 
is,  that  this  difficulty  is  seldom  or  never  thought  of;  and 
even  where  it  has  once  been  present  to  the  mind,  is 
quickly  forgot,  and  leaves  but  a  small  impression  behind 

*  Section  1. 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  331 

it.  Very  refined  reflections  have  little  or  no  influence 
upon  us ;  and  yet  we  do  not,  and  cannot  establish  it  for 
a  rule,  that  they  ought  not  to  have  any  influence ;  which 
implies  a  manifest  contradiction. 

But  what  have  I  here  said,  that  reflections  very 
refined  and  metaphysical  have  little  or  no  influence  upon 
us  ?  This  opinion  I  can  scarce  forbear  retracting,  and 
condemning  from  my  present  feeling  and  experience. 
The  interne  view  of  these  manifold  contradictions  and 
imperfections  in  human  reason  has  so  wrought  upon  me, 
and  heated  my  brain,  that  I  am  ready  to  reject  all  belief 
and  reasoning,  and  can  look  upon  no  opinion  even  as 
more  probable  or  likely  than  another.  Where  am  I,  or 
what  ?  From  what  causes  do  I  derive  my  existence,  and 
to  what  condition  shall  I  return  ?  Whose  favor  shall  I 
court,  and  whose  anger  must  I  dread  ?  What  beings 
surround  me  ?  and  on  whom  have  I  any  influence,  or 
who  have  any  influence  on  me  ?  I  am  confounded  with 
all  these  questions,  and  begin  to  fancy  myself  in  the 
most  deplorable  condition  imaginable,  environed  with 
the  deepest  darkness,  and  utterly  deprived  of  the  use  of 
every  member  and  faculty. 

Most  fortunately  it  happens,  that  since  reason  is  inca- 
pable of  dispelling  these  clouds,  Nature  herself  suffices 
to  that  purpose,  and  cures  me  of  this  philosophical  mel- 
ancholy and  delirium,  either  by  relaxing  this  bent  of 
mind,  or  by  some  avocation,  and  lively  impression  of  my 
senses,  which  obliterate  all  these  chimeras.  I  dine,  I 
play  a  game  of  backgammon,  I  converse,  and  am  merry 
with  my  friends;  and  when,  after  three  or  four  hours' 
amusement,  I  would  return  to  these  speculations,  they 
appear  so  cold,  and  strained,  and  ridiculous,  that  I  can- 
not find  in  my  heart  to  enter  into  them  any  further. 

Here,  then,  I  find  myself  absolutely  and  necessarily 


332  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

determined-  to  live,  and  talk,  and  act  like  other  people 
in  the  common  affairs  of  life.  But  notwithstanding  that 
my  natural  propensity,  and  the  course  of  my  animal 
spirits  and  passions  reduce  me  to  this  indolent  belief  in 
the  general  maxims  of  the  world,  I  still  feel  such  remains 
of  my  former  disposition,  that  I  am  ready  to  throw  all 
my  books  and  papers  into  the  fire,  and  resolve  never 
more  to  renounce  the  pleasures  of  life  for  the  sake  of 
reasoning  and  philosophy.  For  those  are  my  sentiments 
in  that  splenetic  humor  which  governs  me  at  present.  I 
may,  nay  I  must  yield  to  the  current  of  nature,  in  sub- 
mitting to  my  senses  and  understanding ;  and  in  this 
blind  submission  I  show  most  perfectly  my  sceptical  dis- 
position and  principles.  But  does  it  follow  that  I  must 
strive  against  the  current  of  nature,  which  leads  me  to 
indolence  and  pleasure ;  that  I  must  seclude  myself,  in 
some  measure,  from  the  commerce  and  society  of  men, 
which  is  so  agreeable ;  and  that  I  must  torture  my  brain 
with  subtilties  and  sophistries,  at  the  very  time  that  I 
cannot  satisfy  myself  concerning  the  reasonableness  of 
so  painful  an  application,  nor  have  any  tolerable  pros- 
pect of  arriving  by  its  means  at  truth  and  certainty  ? 
Under  what  obligation  do  I  lie  of  making  such  an  abuse 
of  time  ?  And  to  what  end  can  it  serve,  either  for  the 
service  of  mankind,  or  for  my  own  private  interest? 
No :  if  I  must  be  a  fool,  as  all  those  who  reason  or 
believe  any  thing  certainly  are,  my  follies  shall  at  least 
be  natural  and  agreeable.  Where  I  strive  against  my 
inclination,  I  shall  have  a  good  reason  for  my  resistance ; 
and  will  no  more  be  led  a  wandering  into  such  dreary 
solitudes,  and  rough  passages,  as  I  have  hitherto  met 
with. 

These  are  the  sentiments  of  my  spleen  and  indolence ; 
and  indeed  I  must  confess,  that  philosophy  has  nothing 


OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  333 

to  oppose  to  them,  and  expects  a  victory  more  from  the 
returns  of  a  serious  good-humored  disposition,  than  from 
the  force  of  reason  and  conviction.  In  all  the  incidents 
of  life,  we  ought  still  to  preserve  our  scepticism.  If  we 
believe  that  fire  warms,  or  water  refreshes,  it  is  only 
because  it  costs  us  too  much  pains  to  think  otherwise. 
Nay,  if  we  are  philosophers,  it  ought  only  to  be  upon 
sceptical  principles,  and  from  an  inclination  which  we 
feel  to  the  employing  ourselves  after  that  manner. 
Where  reason  is  lively,  and  mixes  itself  with  some  pro- 
pensity, it  ought  to  be  assented  to.  Where  it  does  not, 
it  never  can  have  any  title  to  operate  upon  us. 

At  the  time,  therefore,  that  I  am  tired  with  amuse- 
ment and  company,  and  have  indulged  a  reverie  in  my 
chamber,  or  in  a  solitary  walk  by  a  river  side,  I  feel  my 
mind  all  collected  within  itself,  and  am  naturally  inclined 
to  carry  my  view  into  all  those  subjects,  about  which  I 
have  met  with  so  many  disputes  in  the  course  of  my 
reading  and  conversation.  I  cannot  forbear  having  a 
curiosity  to  be  acquainted  with  the  principles  of  moral 
good  and  evil,  the  nature  and  foundation  of  government, 
and  the  cause  of  those  several  passions  and  inclinations 
which  actuate  and  govern  me.  I  am  uneasy  to  think  I 
approve  of  one  object,  and  disapprove  of  another ;  call 
one  thing  beautiful,  and  another  deformed ;  decide  con- 
cerning truth  and  falsehood,  reason  and  folly,  without 
knowing  upon  what  principles  I  proceed.  I  am  con- 
cerned for  the  condition  of  the  learned  world,  which 
lies  under  such  a  deplorable  ignorance  in  all  these  par- 
ticulars. I  feel  an  ambition  to  arise  in  me  of  contribut- 
ing to  the  instruction  of  mankind,  and  of  acquiring  a 
name  by  my  inventions  and  discoveries.  These  senti- 
ments spring  up  naturally  in  my  present  disposition; 
and  should  I  endeavor  to  banish  them,  by  attaching 

28* 


334  OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

myself  to  any  other  business  or  diversion,  I  feel  I  should 
be  a  loser  in  point  of  pleasure  ;  and  this  is  the  origin  of 
my  philosophy. 

But  even  to  suppose  this  curiosity  and  ambition  should 
not  transport  me  into  speculations  without  the  sphere 
of  common  life,  it  would  necessarily  happen,  that  from 
my  very  weakness  I  must  be  led  into  such  inquiries. 
It  is  certain  that  superstition  is  much  more  bold  in  its 
systems  and  hypotheses  than  philosophy  ;  and  while 
the  latter  contents  itself  with  assigning  new  causes  and 
principles  to  the  phenomena  which  appear  in  the  vis- 
ible world,  the  former  opens  a  world  of  its  own,  and 
presents  us  with  scenes,  and  beings,  and  objects,  which 
are  altogether  new.  Since,  therefore,  it  is  almost  impos- 
sible for  the  mind  of  man  to  rest,  like  those  of  beasts, 
in  that  narrow  circle  of  objects,  which  are  the  subject  of 
daily  conversation  and  action,  we  ought  only  to  deliber- 
ate concerning  the  choice  of  our  guide,  and  ought  to 
prefer  that  which  is  safest  and  most  agreeable.  And  in 
this  respect  I  make  bold  to  recommend  philosophy,  and 
shall  not  scruple  to  give  it  the  preference  to  supersti- 
tion of  every  kind  or  denomination.  For  as  superstition 
arises  naturally  and  easily  from  the  popular  opinions  of 
mankind,  it  seizes  more  strongly  on  the  mind,  and  is 
often  able  to  disturb  us  in  the  conduct  of  our  lives  and 
actions.  Philosophy,  on  the  contrary,  if  just,  can  pre- 
sent us  only  with  mild  and  moderate  sentiments ;  and  if 
false  and  extravagant,  its  opinions  are  merely  the 
objects  of  a  cold  and  general  speculation,  and  seldom 
go  so  far  as  to  interrupt  the  course  of  our  natural  pro- 
pensities. The  Cynics  are  an  extraordinary  instance  of 
philosophers,  who,  from  reasonings  purely  philosophical, 
ran  into  as  great  extravagancies  of  conduct  as  any  monk 
or  dervise  that  ever  was  in  the  world.     Generally  speak- 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  335 

ing,  the  errors  in  religion  are  dangerous ;  those  in  phi- 
losophy only  ridiculous. 

I  am  sensible,  that  these  two  cases  of  the  strength 
and  weakness  of  the  mind  will  not  comprehend  all  man- 
kind, and  that  there  are  in  England,  in  particular,  many 
honest  gentlemen,  who,  being  always  employed  in  their 
domestic  affairs,  or  amusing  themselves  in  common 
recreations,  have  carried  their  thoughts  very  little 
beyond  those  objects,  which  are  every  day  exposed  to 
their  senses.  And  indeed,  of  such  as  these  I  pretend 
not  to  make  philosophers,  nor  do  I  expect  them  either 
to  be  associates  in  these  researches,  or  auditors  of  these 
discoveries.  They  do  well  to  keep  themselves  in  their 
present  situation ;  and,  instead  of  refining  them  into 
philosophers,  I  wish  we  could  communicate  to  our 
founders  of  systems,  a  share  of  this  gross  earthy  mix- 
ture, as  an  ingredient,  which  they  commonly  stand  much 
in  need  of,  and  which  would  serve  to  temper  those  fiery 
particles,  of  which  they  are  composed.  While  a  warm 
imagination  is  allowed  to  enter  into  philosophy,  and 
hypotheses  embraced  merely  for  being  specious  and 
agreeable,  we  can  never  have  any  stead  principles,  nor 
any  sentiments,  which  will  suit  with  common  practice 
and  experience.  But  were  these  hypotheses  once  re- 
moved, we  might  hope  to  establish  a  system  or  set  of 
opinions,  which  if  not  true  (for  that,  perhaps,  is  too 
much  to  be  hoped  for),  might  at  least  be  satisfactory  to 
the  human  mind,  and  might  stand  the  test  of  the  most 
critical  examination.  Nor  should  we  despair  of  attain- 
ing this  end,  because  of  the  many  chimerical  systems, 
which  have  successively  arisen  and  decayed  away  among 
men,  would  we  consider  the  shortness  of  that  period, 
wherein  these  questions  have  been  the  subjects  of 
inquiry  and  reasoning.     Two  thousand  years  with  such 


336  OP   THE   UNDERSTANDING. 

long  interruptions,  and  under  such  mighty  discourage- 
ments, are  a  small  space  of  time  to  give  any  tolerable 
perfection  to  the  sciences ;  and  perhaps  we  are  still  in 
too  early  an  age  of  the  world  to  discover  any  principles, 
which  will  bear  the  examination  of  the  latest  posterity. 
For  my  part,  my  only  hope  is,  that  I  may  contribute  a 
little  to  the  advancement  of  knowledge,  by  giving  in 
some  particulars  a  different  turn  to  the  speculations  of 
philosophers,  and  pointing  out  to  them  more  distinctly 
those  subjects,  where  alone  they  can  expect  assurance 
and  conviction.  Human  Nature  is  the  only  science  of 
man  ;  and  yet  has  been  hitherto  the  most  neglected.  It 
will  be  sufficient  for  me,  if  I  can  bring  it  a  little  more 
into  fashion ;  and  the  hope  of  this  serves  to  compose 
my  temper  from  tha  spleen,  and  invigorate  it  from  that 
indolence,  which  sometimes  prevail  upon  me.  If  the 
reader  finds  himself  in  the  same  easy  disposition,  let  him 
follow  me  in  my  future  speculations.  If  not,  let  him 
follow  his  inclination,  and  wait  the  returns  of  application 
and  good  humor.  The  conduct  of  a  man  who  studies 
philosophy  in  this  careless  manner,  is  more  truly  scep- 
tical than  that  of  one  who,  feeling  in  himself  an  inclina- 
tion to  it,  is  yet  so  overwhelmed  with  doubts  and  scru- 
ples, as  totally  to  reject  it.  A  true  sceptic  will  be  diffi- 
dent of  his  philosophical  doubts,  as  well  as  of  his  philo- 
sophical convictions  ;  and  will  never  refuse  any  innocent 
satisfaction  which  offers  itself,  upon  account  of  either  of 
them. 

Nor  is  it  only  proper  we  should  in  general  indulge 
our  inclination  in  the  most  elaborate  philosophical 
researches,  notwithstanding  our  sceptical  principles,  but 
also  that  we  should  yield  to  that  propensity,  which 
inclines  us  to  be  positive  and  certain  in  'particular  points, 
according  to  the  light  in  which  we  survey  them  in  any 


OF   THE   UNDERSTANDING.  337 

particular  instant.  It  is  easier  to  forbear  all  examina- 
tion and  inquiry,  than  to  check  ourselves  in  so  natural 
a  propensity,  and  guard  against  that  assurance,  which 
always  arises  from  an  exact  and  full  survey  of  an  object. 
On  such  an  occasion  we  are  apt  not  only  to  forget  our 
scepticism,  but  even  our  modesty  too ;  and  make  use  of 
such  terms  as  these,  it  is  evident,  it  is  certain,  it  is  undenia- 
ble ;  which  a  due  deference  to  the  public  ought,  per- 
haps, to  prevent.  I  may  have  fallen  into  this  fault  after 
the  example  of  others ;  but  I  here  enter  a  caveat  against 
any  objections  which  may  be  offered  on  that  head ;  and 
declare  that  such  expressions  were  extorted  from  me  by 
the  present  view  of  the  object,  and  imply  no  dogmat- 
ical spirit,  nor  conceited  idea  of  my  own  judgment, 
which  are  sentiments  that  I  am  sensible  can  become 
nobody,  and  a  sceptic  still  less  than  any  other. 


END    OF   VOL.    I. 


OAN  PERIOD  1 
HOME  USE 


N^L^ 


i 


ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

1 -month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling  642-3405 

6-month  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books  to  Circulation  Desk 

Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


I    1 


wwrn 


-•„ 


MAR  i  1  1999 


r?r'r\ V,rc.  JAN  2  3  1934 


I 


RECEIVED 


DF1)     5  1983 


EDOC  PSYCH.  LIBftAr 


gEG.cm.0K  8 


FORM  NO.  DD  6, 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


w* 


